Back to the Road Not Taken
by isaytoodlepip
Summary: A glimpse of what Harry's life might have been like if he had not gone to Hogwarts, and what would happen when he finally took the road not taken. Includes a friendship with Snape, a predilection for pranks, and the chance to end the war with Voldemort.
1. Swiss Army Romance

"Hey Flash, you up yet man ****

A/N: This is an alternate reality story, and it may turn into an epic or end here depending on the reactions I get. I'm not going to go into a big explanation on the background since you can find most of what you need in the story. Harry and all of the recognizable places and names belong to JKR, yadda yadda. And for the few of you who may have reviewed So It Begins and asked about a sequel, I am gathering my ideas on it but I will be posting a few new stories before returning to that one. But don't fret, I won't abandon it all together, especially after all of you wonderful people said some wonderful things. OK, sorry for the long Author's Note, here's the story. Enjoy and review!

"Hey Flash, you up yet man?" Harry had thought that the dull pounding he had been listening to for the last five minutes was the bass filtered through the foot of concrete separating him from the Human Zit that lived next door. Either that or a result of whatever he drank last night.

"Yeah, give me minute," he groaned in response, turning to see what was pinning his arm to the flimsy dorm mattress, and then trying to remember her name. Must be a waitress, she'd not his type. Waitress at Bennigan's, according to the half-empty book of matches on the bedside table. Lana. That's right. From Victorian British Lit. She had given all of his friends illegal drinks. _If I were back in England, I wouldn't bloody need to be prying this girl off me. _Of course, that thought didn't linger for long in Harry's mind. Even being faced with a pair of mascara-caked blurry eyes devoid of recognition was better than the life he had left behind him, in England.

"What time is it?" Lana moaned as she stretched her limbs, the grace of a cat decidedly absent. Definitely not his type.

"One, almost," Harry answered, pulling on his boxers as he got out of bed and crossed over to the window, gingerly stepping around the clothes and pizza boxes that his roommate Andy considered the staples of interior design. Lana moaned again as Harry pulled open the blinds, revealing the perpetually blue sky of February in Logan, Massachusetts. 

"Where're you going?" she yawned, hand shielding her eyes as she squinted at the intimate stranger rustling through his closet, searching for his left shoe. 

"I've got a project to work on," he answered, settling on a lefty from another pair. They are both Converse, who cares if they don't match? "You can stay and go back to bed if you want," he continued, shoving his wallet in the back pocket of his blue jeans and struggling to open the heavy oak door.

"Wait, um-"

"Harry."

"I know. When will I-"

"I'll call you," he answered, knowing that she knew it was a lie and wondering why that never bothered him any more. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge," he added, just before walking out.

"Took you long enough," greeted Andy, who was slouched against the opposite wall.

"Hey, these things require a bit of diplomacy," Harry smirked as they made their way down the stairs, deciding that their mission was too vital to risk being stuck for hours in the Hell-evator. 

"I just scream and run away," Andy laughed, jumping down five steps at a time per usual.

"Explains why you never have second dates," Harry answered, not wanting to spell out the usefulness of having a girl that can get you drinks in a rather strict college town. "Did you get my mail like I asked?" he continued, after apologizing to the girl Andy had nearly trampled while rounding the third floor curve.

"Yeah, here's the key. And you got one of those fancy parchment deals again," Andy answered, handing Harry a thick envelope addressed in familiar green script. "Joining some honor society and too embarrassed to tell me?"

"Yeah, right," Harry mumbled, shoving the envelope into his jacket pocket and throwing open the door to the first floor lobby a bit harder than he normally would have. Thankfully, no one was on the other side.

Outside, just beyond the "Stoop Rats" that were forced by college rules and an addiction to nicotine into littering the front steps, a small crowd was gathered, all cheering as Harry and Andy joined their ranks. "We though you'd bailed, Flash," grinned Emma, the rep from the school paper, who was partial to covering the stunts of Manic, an intramural organization dating back to the school's Cold War conception. 

Manic was one of the reasons that Harry had chosen Massachusetts and Bulfinch University over all of the other exchange programs that Britain's university system offered. Something about an underground movement dedicated to stupidity was intriguing. Well, it used to be underground, before Emma put Harry's first Manic action on the front page. In his freshman year, Harry had scaled Landis Hall with his bare hands, not even a safety harness to insure that his brains did not end up splattered on the pavement in some daring piece of abstract art. That stunt garnered Harry the respect of Manics everywhere, as well as the nickname Flash. (Someone wanted to call him Spidey, then someone else pointed out that if he should be likened to any super hero it ought to be Flash because of the lightening bolt scar on his forehead.) As Harry remembered all of this, he adjusted the envelope in his pocket, wondering if he wouldn't be better off by just throwing to away. Still, it couldn't hurt to read it, see what she wanted this time. See how she'd try to convince him…

"What's the plan, man?" asked Dan, mercifully saving Harry from his thoughts. "Apart from the usual, I mean."

The "usual" consisted of A) stealing all cones and gates limiting traffic to one way, B) adding either dye or bubble bath to the three campus fountains, and C) gathering tapes from the cameras located in several teacher lounges throughout campus, later to be spliced with shots from the latest novelty porn pics and redistributed to the library, hidden under jackets promoting nature films and history documentaries.

"Let's go to the mall. I've got a friend that'll give us a discount on paint," he answered, leading the pack towards the upperclassmen parking lot.

"For?" prompted Emma, holstering her camera and fishing out the keys to her car.

"We're going to improve all that shitty campus art they put up over the weekend." The group of 17 broke into laughs and discussions about the merit of water-based paints and how many people could squeeze into Dan's new ride. 

"I think we should put a giant diaper on the one that looks like a Sumo, over near the child development building," suggested Andy, who hopped into his permanent shotgun seat in Harry's Audi. Harry just smiled, noticing how the other cars all seemed to be waiting for him to lead the way to the mall, as if they needed permission. Or maybe they just hoped that Harry would come up with something better to do on the short drive down. Maybe his night with Lana had thrown him off. Manic's Wednesday rituals were usually more daring than defacing private property. Like last week, bungee jumping from the roof of the football stadium and reprogramming the scoreboard to read "Blow job!" instead of "Touchdown!"

"Hey Andy, which parlor does Vicky work at?" Harry asked, scanning Magnolia's strip plazas for something new.

"Uhh…Capitol Ink, down on Brevard," Andy answered, wiping the nostril prints he had left on the passenger side window and flashing Dan the finger as the Beetle rolled to a stop at the light beside them.

"Let's stop and look," Harry said, pulling into the parking lot and turning to see how many of the other cars had followed. Soon all five were accounted for and the tattoo parlor's lobby was filled to the brim.

"Why don't you get all the names of your conquests, Harry?" suggested Dee. "Maybe then you'd remember their names the morning after."

"Not enough room on his body for that," snickered Andy, pointing out a rather racy drawing to an appreciative Dan.

"Hey, I remembered your name!" Harry defended. "I called you Delia because I though that's what 'D' stood for."

"That's what it does stand for, and you called me Sarah you dumb ass!" Luckily Dee wasn't really mad. None of the Manics Harry had slept with could ever really be mad at him. Sometimes he wished he knew why. A good slap in the face would probably to him some good.

"Hey, Flash, look at this one," Dan said, pointing to one of the frames, where a subtle drawing stood out amongst the flamboyant images of Chinese dragons and American eagles- an ink of a skull, a snake slithering out of its mouth.

"What about it?" Harry asked, trying to deny the strange attraction the thing possessed.

"I don't know, but you should get it," Dan answered, sounding a little too serious to be the boy Harry knew. He was just about to comment on it when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "That's a popular one, you know," said the silky voice, perfectly matching the suit and tie individual before him. Harry was positive that this man didn't belong in a sleazy tattoo parlor, but then, neither did he really.

"Yeah, it's ok," Harry answered, making to move over to his friends that were oohing and ahhing at something closer to the door. But a forceful hand grabbed his forearm before he could go.

"I think that mark would be good for you," whispered the man, eyes gleaming in a way that made Harry swallow hard.

"I'll think about it," Harry answered, sternly freeing himself from the man's grip and practically fleeing the shop, leaving his friends to bustle out after him.

"Nothing you liked?" asked Flik, the Manic tech advisor. 

"Nah, that guy in there was freaking me out," Harry answered, tossing his keys up and down and peering into the window of the parlor.

"What guy?" asked Dan, following Harry's gaze.

"That suit I was talking to," Harry answered, wondering where the man had gone.

"You weren't talking to anyone," Emma answered, shooting Andy a nervous glance.

"Ok, what are you holding, Flash, and why haven't you shared?" Andy grinned in mock outrage. Harry had to laugh.

@@@

It was dead at the mall, not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon. Harry walked a few paces behind everyone, trying to memorize the moment. He was going to be leaving Bulfinch come April. He hadn't told anyone yet that his extra summer hours meant an early graduation that meant…Harry had no idea what that meant. He was a lit major, for Christ's sake! What kind of career could that lead to? But shifting his focus back to the food court and wondering what the hell a "family bathroom" was, Harry returned to studying his friends and laughing as Flik skateboarded away from mall security.

After stopping at a pay phone to make sure that Lana was out of his room and then popping into the dollar store for a dozen cans of spray paint and silly string, Harry joined the rest of the crew outside of the pet shop.

"Let's get some rats and set them loose in the cafeteria," suggested Dee as she tapped out a greeting to the Macaw in the window. "Last time they had those funky ones with no hair."

"Nah man, I gotta eat there," Dan whined, knowing it would have been hilarious. "We could get some fish and put them in the fountain?"

"There's feeder crickets for the on-campus rehab center?" someone suggested, sparking a debate over the differences between prank and terrorism.

"Coming, Flash?" Andy asked as the group squeezed into the store, all groaning about the overwhelming stench of dog shit. 

"No, I don't do pet stores," Harry answered, trying to make a statement like that sound as smooth as it clearly wasn't.

"Why, 'fraid of the puppies and other warm fuzzies?" Andy teased, pulling Harry into the shop before heading towards the redhead behind the counter. Already committed to the location, Harry shrugged it off and headed back towards the snake terrariums.

"Hey kid, open the cage or I'll bite you," hissed the Black Indigo, thoroughly unimpressive to Harry.

"Big threat considering you'll still be in the cage if I don't open it," Harry answered, turning to look at the slumbering garden snakes across the row.

"Shut the fuck up, man," whined the Indigo. Harry laughed, wondering if that translated for the snake.

"You could try being nice to me," Harry smiled. "I _might be_ looking for a pet."

"Kiss my ass," snorted Indigo, sliding up the glass like he was trying to stand up and fight. Harry would have had a comeback if he hadn't noticed Emma and Flik, staring at him more than usual.

"How'd you do that?" Flik demanded, awe in his voice making Harry smile again.

"Learned it in England." It was the standard line when it came to things of this nature and everyone knew better than to pursue it.

By the end of the shopping trip, Harry had delegated the campus remodeling job to the freshmen Manics and whoever wanted to help and headed back to his dorm room, relieved to see that Lana had left him the beer that was in the mini-fridge. It wasn't until he took off his jacket that Harry remembered. The letter from Hogwarts. Sighing, he set the envelope on the desk and got down on his hands and knees, reaching for the safe box under his bed. There they were, testimonies to his other life. Proof of the road not taken. 

Harry could still remember every detail of his eleventh birthday as if it were yesterday. After all, it had been the best birthday of his life at the time, and also the worst. He remembered Hagrid, the man who found him and gave him his first letter. He remembered going to Diagon Alley, buying his books and wand, taking his owl Hedwig back to the Dursley's house on Privet Drive. And remembered saying no, three weeks later. Sending Hedwig with a note saying that he'd be going to Stonewall instead and would you please give Hedwig back to Hagrid? Of course, the decision of a little boy didn't mean anything to this person, this Minerva McGonagall. Thus began the series of letters that Harry now held in his hand. Urgings to reconsider. Requests for a reply, a meeting. Then a new tactic, reporting. Stories about Lily and James Potter, about their world. _His_ world. About Voldemort. And then a letter saying Voldemort had returned to power, something about a Sorcerer's Stone. And then a visit from Albus Dumbledore, excusing Harry from class at Stonewall one afternoon shortly after his second year had begun.

"You know, you could get into very serious trouble for what you've been doing," Dumbledore whispered after a long staring match in Stonewall's deserted library.

"I don't know what you're talking about," lied the twelve-year-old Harry, before he had gotten acquainted with deception. But how could Dumbledore know that Harry had gone back twice to Diagon Alley to buy new textbooks, to train himself?

"I don't understand, Harry," the headmaster continued, unnerving the boy with his omniscient eyes. "If you want to learn, why do you refuse to come to Hogwarts?"

Harry tried to explain. About the Dursleys' anger. About the pressure he didn't want. About wishing he wasn't The Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore had listened patiently, giving Harry a chance. Hoping he'd change his mind. "It's not safe for you, Harry," he continued once Harry was done. "Voldemort has returned and war is coming. Even if you are living as a Muggle, your powers are still there within you, and they are still a threat to him. Please, come to Hogwarts. We can keep you safe."

But Harry refused. He had finally made some friends, with Dudley away at Smeltings, and he wasn't about to give that up to hide from a man that didn't even exist in **his** world. Dumbledore conceded, knowing it was not his decision to make. So the last wizard Harry had ever seen was the nondescript man with red hair that came to Number Four to put up some security measures.

But every once in a while, a letter would come. Sometimes with news of "the war". Sometimes with a plea for Harry to reconsider. Sometimes with a simple hello. But Harry had read between the lines the last few times and he knew that this letter was no social call. Dumbledore and this McGonagall woman, the good side, were losing. People were frightened. People were dying. And even if Harry had turned his back on that world, he couldn't pretend that he didn't care about what happened to it. 

Of course, that was largely due to the fact that he hadn't _really_ turned his back on magic. He wasn't sure how he evaded the Ministry, who must have _some _rule about not practicing magic until trained to do so. Then again, how many people said no to an acceptance to Hogwarts? So for years after first learning that he was a wizard, Harry had returned to Diagon Alley when given the chance to escape the Dursleys, and he always came home with a handful of books and something new from Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. He had even made one final trip to London before departing for the states, exchanging half of what remained of his Gringotts vault into American currency, after picking up a copy of Modern Magical History and the most advanced text on Transfiguration that Emeric Switch had penned. His small library of magical text shrunk down and fit neatly into his footlocker, Harry had left England, giving Vernon Dursley a happy promise never to return to Privet Drive. And he promised himself that he would never return to Diagon Alley.

But the fact remained that he held in his hand what could possibly be an invitation to this other world, maybe even a job offer. He couldn't stay in America forever. He wasn't a citizen. And also, didn't he want to be a real wizard? Why would he have left his account at Gringotts open if he hadn't planned to return, someday? Harry sat on his bed, propping his feet up on the nightstand, and opened the letter, hoping that its very existence meant that Minerva had not given up on him. Hoping that he'd be given a reason to avoid those mascara-caked eyes, those stairs, those Stoop Rats, that man in the tattoo parlor. Hoping that a bad decision nine years ago wouldn't condemn him to a life of ordinary.

__

Dear Mr. Potter,

We at Hogwarts hope this letter finds you well. Albus Dumbledore sends you warm wishes as your academic career at Bulfinch comes to an end. But we both hope that your academic career in general will live on past graduation. Simply put, I am writing to issue an invitation to come to Hogwarts and participate in an auror-training program meant to bolster our campaign in the war. We have had dark times this year, most notably with the string of casualties that included Rubeus Hagrid, whom you may remember from your childhood. As of this moment, we are holding our own against the Dark Lord. Some are hopeful enough to say that we have a distinct advantage, with the recovery of the stolen Sorcerer's Stone last month by one of our own professors. However both the Headmaster and I believe that there is still the chance for defeat. And despite your lack of formal training, we are asking you to help us now.

Harry, whatever your reasons have been in the past, please do not let them keep you from what you are destined to be. You are a great wizard. Being _The Boy Who Lived has nothing to do with it. We hope that you will make the right choice. In the meantime, good luck with your final months before graduation. We will keep in touch._

Yours,

Minerva McGonagall

The right choice. As Harry flicked out the contacts in his eyes and eased under the covers of his bed, he couldn't keep himself from wondering how his life might have turned out if he had gone to Hogwarts, like he was supposed to. Some part of him thought that Voldemort might not have returned at all. That Hagrid would still be alive. But Harry was only a boy then, and what difference could one child make? Of course, he'd never known the difference one choice could make either. In another reality, he could have been casting love charms over some sultry witch, for all he knew. Anything but lying in a cold dorm room, praying that his roommate would stay out all night again just so he could have a minute of privacy, worrying about confessing to his friends that he would be leaving them in two months. _But maybe I can take some with me_? _Manic takes on Britain! Andy will go ballistic in a place like Gambol and Japes. Wait, why does this sound as if I've already decided? _Harry continued to think for hours, random littler things, like who was watching Hedwig now that Hagrid was gone, and wondering if this Minerva McGonagall was hot. He thought these things until he fell asleep, lights still on, just like many nights when something in his mind made him afraid to feel the dark. This night, it was the image of a skull, snake slithering out of its mouth, the knowledge that Harry couldn't speak to _this_ snake not at all comforting.

****

A/N: Sorry, back again. Hope you liked it enough to get down here. I normally don't put in song lyrics, but I thought it was only fair because I got the idea for the story from this song. It's by Dashboard Confessional (semi-local but highly recommended if you can find it). Also explains Chapter title.

The Swiss Army Romance

__

Sleep with all the lights on. You're not so happy. You're not secure.

And you're dying to look cute in your blue jeans

But you're plastic just like everyone, just like everyone.

And that face you paint is pressed

Impressing most of us as permanent

And I'd like to see you undone.

College night will draw the crowds.

Dorms unload and you're heading out.

Here is your moment to shine.

Making up a history, it's nothing from the life you lead

But man, will they buy all your lines.

Sleep with all the sheets off, bearing your mattress, bearing your soul.

And you're dying to look smooth with your tattoos

But you're searching just like everyone could be anyone.

And those friends you have are the best

Impressing most of us as permanent

And I'd like to see you undone.

Youth's the most unfaithful mistress.

Still we forge ahead to miss her,

Rushing our moment to shine.

Making up a history, it's nothing from the life you lead

But man, will they buy all your lines.

We're not 21 but the sooner we are, the sooner the fun will begin

So get out your fake eyelashes

And fake I.D.'s

And real disasters ensue.

It's cool to take these chances.

It's cool to fake romances

And grow up fast and grow up fast and grow up fast

And grow up fast.


	2. All that you can leave behind

"Good morning, Harry," smiled Professor Bhoerer, the only professor in Harry's recollection ever to have bothered learning the names of her students, or even greet them cordially

"Good morning, Harry," smiled Professor Bhoerer, the only professor in Harry's recollection ever to have bothered learning the names of her students, or even greet them cordially. It wasn't so much a disinterest in pleasantries, Harry thought. Perhaps they didn't want to get too attached with only 4 months in a semester? Or maybe it was that oft tested and oft breached school policy forbidding "improperly close" relationships between a student and teacher. Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered. Harry had trouble remembering his professors' names as well, so he couldn't really hold it against them.

Harry nodded in greeting and took his customary seat next to the window, the view usually interesting enough to keep him from falling asleep through the more tedious lectures. Sure enough, from the second story of the Monroe building, Harry could see the results of Manic's midnight escapades. A free standing…glob of stone, once oddly shapeless and the color of something Harry had coughed up this morning, was now glowing in its tie-dyed splendor, Barbie appendages super-glued, along with some tasteless replicas of certain reproductive organs, and a multitude of stickers splashing about either ultra-offensive or utterly moronic slogans. Such as "Make it better, add cheddar." Another work of art. Harry wasn't sad he had missed the party.

"Work of yours?" Lana asked, following his gaze out the window and startling Harry enough to send his pen flying into the back of some poor girl's head. He hadn't spoken to Lana since the previous morning, as per usual. But then, Harry rarely went after classmates, unless it was very close to the end of the semester. As it now stood, Harry had to sit across the aisle from this particular one night stand for another few months before graduation, and that could get rather uncomfortable for both of them if they let the other night become an issue.

"Actually, it's not," Harry answered, smiling at her, checking the level of anger in her eyes. If there was any, she was very good at hiding it. "I merely made the suggestion and let the minions get to work."

Both stopped to scribble down the importance for Hallam in Tennyson's work, as if they didn't already know after the lengthy biography Bhoerer had assigned for background reading. Once the class realized with no little amount of fury that the lecture was going to be a recap of the entire book and proof of $16.57 wasted, Harry returned his attention to Lana, who obviously wasn't done with him.

"So where were you last night? I called," she continued, obvious in her attempt to not sound either bitter or possessive.

"When?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. Had he gone anywhere last night? 

"I don't know, maybe nine or ten."

"I'm sure I was home by then. Maybe I was in the shower…or not. I could have been asleep, actually. Or just thinking. It was a strange afternoon." Where was this honesty coming from?

"What? Havoc at the mall?" Lana laughed, though Harry could detect something darker in her tone. 

"How did you know I went there?" Harry asked, wishing he knew this girl well enough to be able to predict her answer. But then, he hadn't really been interested in knowing her. He wasn't keen on knowing anyone at this point in his life. He didn't want any complications.

"I went to the movies with my girlfriend and I saw you and your little entourage torturing the security guard near the food court," she answered, cheeks blushing at the memory of dragging her friend behind the smoothie kiosk so she could spy on Harry unnoticed.

"Why didn't you come over and say hi?" Harry asked, knowing full well that he wouldn't have done the same if the situation had been reversed.

"I didn't want to bother you," she answered. "I thought that you had left for something important."

"You wouldn't have been a bother. And I'm sorry about that, leaving like I did. It wasn't really something _important_, more a social obligation. That little entourage you mentioned would have broken down my door if I had bailed on our weekly meeting."

"You make it sound as if you're in some sort of cult," she smiled, obviously appeased by the apology, half-hearted thought it may have been.

"I am," Harry answered solemnly, again looking out the window, though the subject of his scrutiny wasn't entirely tangible. 

"You want to visit me at Bennigan's tonight? You can bring your friends, and I'd even throw in my discount," Lana continued, missing the change in Harry's tone.

"When do you get off?"

"One, I have to close."

"How about I just pick you up then, take you somewhere, just the two of us?"

"What's open at that time of night?" 

"Don't worry, I'll fix something. So you up for it?" Harry didn't like the feeling in his stomach, the unease at the thought that she might say no. He couldn't afford these petty anxieties, not after the decision he had made last night. He couldn't take Lana where he was going.

"Of course, but don't expect me to put out at the end of the night," she said in mock severity. Unfortunately, she said it a little too loudly to keep on the side of discretion.

"I'm sure the whole class is grateful for the safety of your virtue, Ms. Noel, but I doubt Tennyson would be very interested in such things, romantic though he was. Now if you'd please turn to-"

After a few prudent minutes of silence, Harry scribbled out a note and lobbed it at her head.

"Don't flatter yourself, you weren't that good." He smiled as her lips pursed in an effort not to smack him upside the head. Instead, she hastily scribbled a response.

"Oh, that really hurts, Tiny."

_This means war_.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't think of a suitable response. So he settled for sticking out his tongue and plastering what he hoped was a cute and endearing pout on his face. It must have worked, for when the class was dismissed, Lana kissed his cheek, said she'd see him at a quarter after, and rushed off to her class, leaving Harry grinning and feeling remarkably like a twelve-year old.

Harry arrived at the restaurant shortly before one, but decided to lie out on the hood of his car rather than wait inside. With the clear winter night, he could almost make out the spiraling arms of the Milky Way. He could see the Dog Star, and he smiled as he thought of a man called Sirius Black. Minerva had written all about him when he escaped from Azkaban when Harry was sixteen. Harry was still in Surrey at the time and he remembered the drawn, pale face of the convict on the evening news. But it had been buried under the more gruesome headlines that came with the war. Missing people, murders, explosions, some blamed on political and religious sects, some on anonymous terrorists. It never really mattered to Harry, since he knew the truth. And McGonagall had explained Sirius's situation to him, just as she tended to explain everything to him, whether he cared to know or not. But this one time, Harry did care to know that his father's best friend had not been his murderer. A man named Peter Pettigrew had been spotted several times since the war began, but the Ministry hadn't seen this as proof enough to release Sirius and Harry's godfather had been forced to take justice into his own hands. And now, as Harry stared up at the star that bore his name, he wondered where he was hiding, and why he hadn't tried to make contact. Then again, that world had more than enough problems to be dealt with.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Lana broke in, again sending Harry flying.

"Must you always sneak up on me?" he asked, inspecting the hood for damage. A little dent, nothing that couldn't be hammered out.

"It's not my fault that you never see me coming," she answered. "So what were you thinking about?"

"Nothing, how was work?" he asked, skirting around the question by opening the car door for her and practically pushing her inside.

"It was fine. Where are we going?"

"Ohm. I know the owners and they'll keep it open for us."

Ohm was a quiet coffeehouse nestled in between a guitar shop and a store catering to adult entertainment. Not surprisingly, it often went unnoticed. It was modestly decorated, scarcely lit, and served the best iced-tchai in town. Thusly, it was Harry's favorite hang out, somewhere he could go to be alone and not seem terribly antisocial, since most of the patrons of the establishment came alone as well.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd go to these places," Lana said as she sat down, throwing a smile at the waiter with a familiarity that suggested she was no stranger to this place, or maybe to that man.

"Why is that?" Harry asked, torn between anger at that smile and anger at the presumption, and amusement at those same things.

"I'm not sure. Every time I look at you, you seem to be bouncing. Flying. I wouldn't have thought you'd ever just go somewhere to sit."

"Well, we've all gotta land some time, right?" In truth, Harry was still flying, his mind running through a million possibilities and none of them had to do with the person sitting in front of him, drinking her black coffee. No, the person behind Harry had all of his attention. It was the man from the tattoo parlor, again in that same sleek suit that made Harry wonder if he ever fit in anywhere.

"Harry? Hello?" 

"I'm sorry, my mind has the habit of walking off without me some times," Harry said, making at least a slight effort to wipe that look off Lana's face. She had evidently been relating to him some amusing story about her night at work, and even though Harry had the suspicion that she was exactly the type to rehearse a conversation in her mind before a date, that didn't mean she deserved to be ignored. She deserved the pretense of an audience, at least.

"That's ok, I've noticed. What are you thinking about now?"

"I'm thinking about getting out of here," he smiled, setting down a twenty and standing, not bothering to hear what Lana had to say on the matter. What he did hear was the soft clang of a bell behind him, signaling that the man had left. "Hey Frannie, is there a back door to this place?" Harry called to the owner.

"Why, someone after you?" Fran laughed, setting aside her broom to get Lana's coat from the rack.

"I think so," Harry smiled, shooting Lana a pointed look.

"Well, there's a door that goes out into the ally, if you're being serious," Fran answered, pointing down the hall towards the bathroom. Harry thanked her and grabbed Lana's hand.

"Why are we going this way?" Lana whispered in a way that showed she didn't really care as long as Harry held on to her hand. Harry just sped up, dragging her through the side door, the feeling in his stomach screaming at him to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, Harry's gut didn't have the best sense of direction, and upon opening the door, he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Hand over your cash and no one gets hurt." The man in front of them couldn't have been a year older than they were, and by the way his hand shook as he pointed it first at Harry, then Lana, then Harry again suggested that he couldn't have been a thief very long either. But then, his face was strangely void of…anything. 

"Harry?!" Lana whined, slapping him on the elbow as she handed him her purse, as if he was her chosen representative in this particular transaction. But Harry wasn't about to just give into this kid, not when the punk looked stoned out of his senses.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, willing the spell with his mind and thankful that he had finally gotten around to taking some Latin courses last year. Almost immediately, the gun flew into Harry's outstretched hand and the young man stood still, face blank as before, not even reacting to Lana's scream. Harry started to open the chamber of the gun, only to be interrupted by a familiar silky voice.

"No need to check, of course it's not loaded," greeted the man from the tattoo parlor as he stepped out from the shadows, making Harry curse himself for not noticing him sooner.

"What do you want?" Harry snapped, shooting a warning glare to silence Lana, who was preparing to complain or cry.

"Only to talk, Harry. Only to talk," answered the man, his smile all but friendly. "I see that you are what we thought you were. The Dark Lord will be pleased about that. But he'll be absolutely thrilled when I hand him a recruit that can disarm without a wand."

"Is that what this demonstration was for? Testing me?" Harry growled.

"Well of course! Didn't know if you were any use at all, but the Master had his suspicions that you'd been honing your powers in secret. Do you even own a wand, or can you do all of your magic without it?" 

Harry couldn't help but smile at this. For a Death Eater, this man wasn't very guarded about the extent of his knowledge.

"I only disarmed him. It doesn't take a wand to do something simple like that. When you think you're life's in danger, that is," Harry answered, trying to sound as arrogant as hell. From all he could observe about the man before him, arrogance would be something of a common tongue. Still, he was careful not to mention that the answer to the man's question was yes on both accounts. Harry's wand was tucked under his bed and, since he was sixteen, Harry had been doing most of his spells without it. It wasn't some extraordinary talent, rather the result of deep reading into magical theory. When he was younger, Harry had done several things without the use of a wand. Made his hair grow. Apparated onto a rooftop. Made glass disappear. When he was thirteen, he had accidentally blown up his cousin's computer. It stood to reason that wandless magic was possible, even controllable once you forced yourself to accept that it existed.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will be very eager to meet you, Potter."

"I'm not interested in joining, thanks."

"It's not as if you have a choice," hissed the man. "You either join or you die."

"I have an infinite amount of choices, and I _choose_ not to commit myself to anything until I graduate," Harry answered, staring into the man's gray eyes, wondering how he could possibly stay in Massachusetts long enough to graduate. From what he read about Voldemort, he did not take kindly to ultimatums.

"I'll tell him you said that. Consider yourself lucky that he has personal interest in you, or else you'd be dead right now," the man snarled. "But before I go…Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green and the boy that had tried to rob them was lying in a heap at their feet, Harry cursing as he watched the suit apparate away, Lana half sobbing, half babbling. "What the fuck was that? Is he dead? What the FUCK is going on?!" she screamed, once the ability to form words returned.

"Shut the hell up and come with me," Harry whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards his car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Harry noticed the Dark Mark hovering over the ally and he wondered why he hadn't recognized that symbol when he was in the parlor. Within minutes, they were back in Harry's dorm, Lana still rambling on incoherently as Harry tore through the trunk under his bed, finally finding what he had been looking for. "Obliviate!" he shouted, pointing his wand at Lana. He had doubted whether he could perform the charm on someone without a wand, since he had never used it before. But the dazed look she got on her face the moment he spoke the word showed that he had gotten it right. "We've just had a wonderful night at the coffee house," he continued, not really sure how much of her memory was being erased but not really caring if she had a few blank spots, as long as she didn't remember anything about the existence of real magic.

"So, where were we?" she smiled, looking as if she had come to as she ran her hand up Harry's thigh.

"You said that you just aren't interested in me in that way and that you needed to go home and study for tomorrow's class," Harry answered, deciding that this definitely was not the time to move beyond his one-night-stand stage.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry Harry. No hard feelings?" she asked, the compassion in her eyes nearly sending Harry into a fit of laughs.

"No hard feelings. Good night," he answered, practically shoving her out the door and then sitting down to draft a letter to Albus Dumbledore. Graduation could wait. Harry had chosen a side and there was no time to waste.


	3. I'm Going Home

A/N: I really am so sorry that this has taken as long as it has. I'm planning on posting another chapter within a few weeks, I promise. This is dedicated to George Harrison, who has nothing to do with this at all, but who I loved just the same. And to Krazy Kris, for kicking my butt to get this done. 

"I'm Going Home"

__

On the day I went away

Goodbye was all I had to say

Now I want to some again and stay

Oh my my, smile and that will mean I may

'Cause I've seen blue skies

Through the tears in my eyes

And I realize

I'm going home

Everywhere it's been the same

Feeling like I'm outside in the rain

Reeling free to try and find the game

Dealing cards for sorrow, cards for pain

'Cause I've seen blue skies

Through the tears in my eyes

And I realize

I'm going home.

-from the soundtrack to Rocky Horror Picture Show

Harry woke to a dull pounding on his door…no, it was a dull pounding in his head this time, and it was a Friday, and he was leaving, and he had nearly forgotten. Or repressed. From the level of light in the room, Harry could tell it was just after sunrise. He couldn't remember ever waking up for a Massachusetts sunrise. He'd stayed awake for plenty of them, but that's never quite the same.

Just across the room, Andy was snoring in tune to the hum of the university-issue mini-fridge. Harry's clock was flashing eights, the red blending in with the morning palette, but the ambiguous time still prompted him to get up. Throwing on the closest pair of jeans and slipping into sandals, he grabbed a shirt and faded out of the room. Pulling on his Superman shirt, he pounded the button of the Hell-evator, some part of him hoping that it would get stuck somewhere between the floors so he could have just one more minute at Bulfinch. But he made it to the lobby in seconds, and from there he rushed to the University Center, speed walking at the college pace, even though he had no where to rush to. 

The University Center was an inconspicuous building, as if they campus architects were deliberately trying to hide the fact that this one building was the nervous system of the college. Harry waved to all of the receptionists, smiling away the questioning looks, the good-natured jokes about the frequency of his visits. The one drawback of Emma's publicity arrangement with Manic was that Harry tended to be called to one dean's office or another's nearly once a week. Of course, he was never _really_ in trouble. His empire was organized in such a way that made accountability nonexistent. But it was an inconvenience that he could do without. Except today. Today, Harry would give anything to be reamed out by an irate faculty member. Instead, he was here to hang up his guns.

"You do understand, Mr. Potter, that you are only two months from graduation?" Dean Koeler asked.

"I know, but it can't be helped. It's a family emergency," Harry lied. He had a terrible feeling that the emergency was more widespread than that.

"We do have a policy concerning such things, a certain amount of forgiveness for these situations, provided you supply proof," Koeler continued.

"I'm not anticipating my returning to the States any time in the near future," Harry answered.

"Is it really that bad?" Koeler asked, sounding almost eager to hear how bad it really was. It was rare to be fed by human misery that early in the morning. Sob stories generally rolled in around lunchtime.

"It really is," Harry answered solemnly, giving in to his Dean's hopes. 

"Well, it's too early in the semester for you to get credit in your current courses, but all of your hours up until now will still be valid in the future, should you find yourself able to continue your education," Koeler smiled, shaking Harry's hand with a renewed vigor, his appetite for abstract death whetted for the time being.

Harry slowly walked back to his dorm, feeling a little lost without the need to hurry. He was running through the lists in his mind: things to pack, names of Hogwarts teachers that Minerva had mentioned in her letters, directions to the school, spells and potions that he needed help with, supplies he'd buy in Diagon Alley before going. He was trying not to list all of the friends he had to say goodbye to, so naturally the names were racing through his mind. Manic. He'd need to give them one last glory before he passed on the torch to someone else. The fact that he would have been graduating in two months anyway was no comfort to him, and he doubted they'd forgive him for leaving them so soon. _Maybe some of them can come visit_, he thought. It would be easy for most of them, who were riding on their fathers' bankbooks, not a scholarship like Harry.

Harry's musings were cut short when he came up to Landis Hall, faced with the Stoop Rats, their smoke rings wavering in the late winter wheeze. Harry hurried inside, bought a Mars bar from the overpriced vending machine, and returned to his room, making a quick phone call before he quietly began packing his things, concentrating on what he'd do once he got off the plane in an effort to keep from crying.

"How can you be leaving?" Andy had just woken up to see most of Harry's things strewn about on the floor, mixed in with the garbage and essay notes and unused textbooks. "I mean, the semester isn't even over yet!"

"It's ok, I can make it up later if I need to. I'm only a few hours short of graduating, so it would be easy to get them in, if I ever decide to," Harry answered, shoving his magical texts back under the bed and turning his attention towards the pile of laundry at the foot of his bed, wondering if he should wash it before he left or wait until he got to London. He was aware that he was acting like his leaving was nothing and that Andy would most likely get pissed off by his casualness, but Harry couldn't help it. He'd made an effort not to show hurt, something that had saved his skin thousands of times when he was with the Dursleys.

"Graduating? But you're a junior! And why are you talking like you won't be back next year? Whatever the problem is, you're coming back, right? You're not leaving forever," Andy asked, feeling foolish for feeling so desperate, and feeling stupid for justifying his utter terror by assigning it to a lack of a ride if Harry left. _Yeah, I'm just going to miss his car. He can go drink tea with the bloody Queen all he wants, I don't care_.

"I might be. It's up in the air. Is this your Pumpkins CD or mine?"

"But we had plans!" Andy went on, ignoring Harry's question. "We were all going to take the road trip to New Orleans in March. And we were talking about sabotaging the Renaissance Festival this year!"

"Don't worry. I'll miss it but I have complete confidence in you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm bequeathing my crown, my empire, to you. Treat it well, my son. Or I'll come back and kick your arse into orbit," Harry smiled, adopting the Monty Python accent he knew Andy would understand.

"What's wrong?" Andy asked, genuinely concerned at this point. "Why are you going? You always said you'd never go back. Did the dean kick you out for Wednesday?"

"No, but that would be ironic, wouldn't it? No, my people need me," Harry smiled.

"I thought you had no family."

"I don't. But I might. Look, I can't explain it to you," Harry sighed, tossing his clothes in his suitcases, deciding on trying a washing charm that he had read about once he was alone.

"So, when?" Andy asked, sounding more defeated than Harry'd ever heard him.

"Monday," Harry lied. His plane was actually leaving that night, the first flight to London he could get. But he didn't have the heart to tell Andy that. Besides, it would be easier on everyone if he slipped away quietly. Well, it would be easier on _him_, and if the others were pissed off by it, he'd have the entire Atlantic Ocean as a buffer against their wrath.

"So soon? We'll need a going-away party at least."

"Don't worry about all that," Harry answered quickly, shuddering as he remembered his last birthday party. He hadn't seen so many police officers in one place since the riot at Homecoming. "I've got something in the works for tonight. I've gotta clear it with Flik, but plan to meet at his place at nine. I'll leave it to you to gather the troops."

"What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I've got some things left to pack."

"You still don't look happy about this."

"It's the sudden realization that past significance is actually trivial." Andy just shook his head and pretended to understand, which is all a best friend has to do.

"You look like you're running away, to be honest."

"Yeah, everyone is after me. Can you blame them?" Harry smirked.

"You sure you're ok, Flash?" Andy asked again, making Harry feel even worse by using that name.

"It's fine, Andy. With luck, this won't be forever. And I promise to write, give you some good ideas for the fall. Not that you'll need any. Just leave the kids in rehab alone, alright?"

Andy was still doing his evil genius laugh when he left Harry alone with his packing. Harry took out his books once more, rifling through the pages and pulling out every letter he had received from Minerva over the years. He had debated writing her, letting her know that he was on his way, but he decided against it. For one, he wouldn't know how to reach her. Well, that was a lie and he knew it, but he used it in his argument anyway. Another point was that the Death Eaters that were watching him could intercept the letter, and they'd know his plans. Of course, if they were _really_ watching him, they'd figure things out soon enough once he went to the airport. Harry supposed his real reason was a fear to commit to the choice he had made. What if he got to England and couldn't make himself follow through? He knew that once he joined the world he belonged in, he'd be locked into a war that he'd rather avoid fighting. But then, if he stayed here, Voldemort would drag him into the fray anyway, and Harry would rather die than fight for that bastard. 

As Harry debated the issue in his mind, his bags were packed and the sun had fallen. It was only six, but Harry left for Flik's anyway, confident that the rest of Manic would be there, setting up beer kegs, ordering every food available in Logan, and wondering if they'd be able to eat it, since most were unaware of what Harry had in mind for that night. Flik knew of course. Harry needed someone to set things rolling, and Flik was the least likely to miss the element of surprise. In fact, he had most of the campus wired with mics and cameras just so he would never be surprised by anything. Harry smiled as he imagined Flik's reaction should he ever learn about Hogwarts or Diagon Alley.

"Flash!" everyone greeted, a throwback to a show called "Cheers!", which Harry had never actually seen but he appreciated the gesture just the same. Minerva had explained that everyone in her world would probably know his name as well, but Harry doubted that they'd shout at him with such affection and intimacy, or if they'd have the slightest idea who "Flash" was. Maybe there would be less for him to live up to. Maybe there would be a whole lot more. Harry was ambivalent about which set of expectations he'd prefer.

A swarm of voices and faces enveloped him, warm and vibrating and making the tumbler of Jack that he had downed earlier sway in his stomach, a comfortable rhythm threatening to put him to sleep if the noise of Manic wasn't so high-pitched.

"Are you really leaving?" asked Emma, the lack of camera and tape recorder oddly touching in Harry's opinion.

"I'm afraid so," Harry answered in mock tragedy, well aware that they knew it wasn't so mock and, deep down, that it wasn't _too_ tragic. Ever since Harry came to town, their GPA's had plummeted. 

"Off to seduce the unsuspecting _birds_ in that part of the world?" Dee asked, playful smirk in hand to show there were no hard feelings. There were never hard feelings in university life; everything fit neatly into "experimentation". "Do you think you'll remember their names the morning after?"

"Probably. I have learned _some_ things in my classes you know," Harry answered, swimming his way over to the couch.

"Classes? What are those?" Andy asked, sitting down next to Harry, shot gun, like always, before always had a definitive end.

It was a relatively quiet party, people floating around Harry, saying quiet goodbyes, voicing regrets, a few of the freshman Manics saying that they wished they'd gotten to know him better. Harry made them smile by remembering their names. Outsiders came in, got drunk, and left, vaguely aware that something was changing but too scared to ask what. The seventeen members of Manic hovered over the keg, the buffet, the stereo, the balcony. They mingled from focal point to focal point, taking in all of the elements, some wondering if parties could exist without Harry, some wondering if Bulfinch could exist without parties, most wondering if others would wonder the same things, when they were gone. There was a fatality in the room and everyone felt it, mourned for it, and were ready to get on with their lives by the time nine rolled around, Flik tossed the TV remote to Harry, and Harry stood.

"Ok, everyone take a seat. I see a few Stoop Rats here. You don't have to leave, just sit in the back because you smell like shit." The laughs came easily, like most things with these people did. Harry suspected that was the thing he'd miss the most. Being loved without effort. "Ok, I know this has been somewhat of a morbid party, not at all up to standard. But you have been brought here for a purpose. To shower me with gifts and affection. Of course, none of you brought gifts, so I'd watch where you step for a few days. Wouldn't want any misfortune to befall you." Faithful finger from Andy. "Right. Anyway, most of you are aware of our little home movies that can be found, edited of course, in the library. Well, tonight my friends, is an entirely different show. So just sit back, relax, and it's been nice knowing you. When I find out where I'm going, you're welcome to come visit."

With that, Harry turned on the television, turned out the lights and, once everyone was too involved with the screen to notice, he slipped out of the apartment, went back to his dorm, left a note asking Andy to pick up his car from short-term parking and watch it for a few years, packed his things in the back seat, and began the drive to the international airport.

That night, due to all of the spots on the campus radio station, nearly half of the city's population tuned in to the public access channel and were entertained by a Greatest Hits montage, film footage of nearly all of Manic's doings, faces blurred to protect the innocent, except the segment where people on campus and in staff rooms made asses of themselves. It was glorious to behold. 

Somewhere else that night, Harry Potter boarded a plane to England. Leaving the tarmac, he had a flashback to a midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show on Halloween, transvestite sitting on his lap, spider web stockings scratching his hands and neck red under the amused stares of his friends. Virgins engaged in good natured and willful humiliation on the stage, rice and balloons and inflated condoms threatening to block the screen, screamed alternative lines drowning out the track, and a stirring rendition of "I'm Going Home". Harry wished it wasn't so damn dark out. He wished he could see those blue skies. But he knew, no matter how much he'd miss his friends, he really was going home. 


	4. Journey Ever Northward

Nearly fourteen hours later, Harry was practically asleep as he walked the streets of London.  All of the people that passed him were characters in his dreamscape; all of the storefronts were sceneries of the subconscious.  And the young man that stared back at him with blurry eyes and a five o'clock shadow when he glanced at a shop window was someone alien to his own home.  Of course, the true indicator that Harry was indeed awake and semi-lucid was the dull throbbing in the back of his throat, a sore reminder that he should never sleep with his mouth open.  At least the woman next to him on the flight hadn't chastised him for snoring.

            Harry pulled the collar of his coat closer to his neck and hurried on, finding an unexpected comfort in the fact that nothing had changed since he left England.  Sundays still smelled the same.  The cold here was a bit wetter than it had been at school, and people's voices were easier to pick out of a crowd, but most of the landmark shops were still in business, and if they had fallen to the economy, eerily similar replacements had sprouted up across streets and around corners.  And of course, the Leaky Cauldron remained the same, hidden like a wallflower, all that potential unnoticed by so many.

            Harry flattened his bangs against his forehead several times before entering the smoky pub, trying to squeeze by a rather plump witch that had obviously had one too many pints.  "Sorry there, love," she crooned, clasping her arms around Harry's waist in drunken euphoria and an attempt to keep from toppling over, at least alone.

            "Come now, Mattie, leave the gentleman alone," chastised Tom, the walnut-faced proprietor that Harry had met a lifetime ago.

            Harry simply smiled at the woman and continued on, determined to get on his way to Hogwarts as soon as possible.  This meant that he had to get funds from Gringotts, have the robes that he had bought when still a child altered, and buy some new books.  Adding the fact that he had no idea _how_ to get to the school, Harry could feel the makings of a migraine building itself a home right behind his left eye. 

            The teller at Gringotts could have been the same goblin that led Harry to his vault on his last visit to Diagon Alley, just before he had gone to the States.  Then again, most of the goblins were short and ugly, with funny-shaped ears and teeth that could leave a sizable mark on you, so it might have been the King of Goblins for all Harry knew.  Well, he knew there was no King…Harry lost that mind-numbing thread of thoughts as he and his goblin guide hurtled down the track, Harry's knees pulled uncomfortably against his chest.  He might have been pleased at the proof of a growth spurt had his stomach not been threatening to spill out.  Fate was kind to him and before Harry could revisit that God-awful airline version of pizza the cart came to an abrupt halt at his vault.  

            The pile of galleons, sickles and knuts was not as high as in days gone by, but was impressive none the less.  Stuffing a sizeable handful into his knapsack, Harry took an envelope full of American bills out of his bag.  He'd read in one of his books that the rate of exchange at the Goblin market was a scandal and he'd just as soon not have to bother with it, just in case he could find his way back to Massachusetts in the near future.  Harry's next stop was at Madam Malkins, where he also picked up some decent hunter green dress robes and a cloak, and then it was on to Flourish and Blotts.  By the time he left, his back was curved from the weight of _Numerology and Gramatica, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, An Anthology of 18th Century Charms, A Study of the Recent Developments in Wizardry Volume Two, Moste Potente Potions: The Revised and LEGAL edition, _and the March volume of "Transfiguration Today".  If Harry was really going to attend this Auror training that Minerva had spoke of, he intended to be able to hold his own.  Or at least not to be a complete embarrassment in front of the other students.

            The shops on Diagon Alley were all closing by the time Harry found himself a secluded table in the Cauldron.  

"Will you be wanting a room for the night?"

Harry nearly choked on his drink, a strange, warm thing called Butterbeer, when Tom's voice addressed him at his side.

            "Maybe that would be a good idea," Harry thought aloud.  He had left most of his things in a locker at King's Cross, his only idea as to how to get to Hogwarts being a faded ticket that he had kept all these years.  Tom nodded and made to leave, but Harry called him back, running out of options.

            "Do you have any idea how I can get to Hogwarts?" he asked, not exactly sure why he was whispering.  

            "We have a Floo connection that'll take you to Hogsmeade, but there's the Express if you prefer.  It used to run only a few times a year, for the students, but these days, what with Hogsmeade being home to most of the Resistance and with the stricter policies on Apparation licenses, the train goes there regularly.  I can find out when the earliest departure is, if you'd like."

            Harry agreed and thanked Tom for his help.  A few minutes after he was settled in his room, Tom knocked to inform him that the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave Platform 9 ¾ at eleven the next morning and that the price of the ticket was already added to his bill.  Content from a clear plan of action, Harry fell asleep the moment he hit the bed. 

            King's Cross Station was infested with commuters by the time Harry arrived the following morning.  Announcements were being made in something that resembled the Queen's English, people were pushing each other with all of their British politeness intact, and Harry was staring at the wall separating platforms 9 and 10, wondering if Tom's explanation was just a gag.  Harry was nearly ready to turn around and run back to Bulfinch when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, and a _very_ familiar suit.  The man from Ohm was bullying his way towards Harry, not bothering to stop to apologize or pick up the papers that he had knocked to the ground from a woman's grip.  Harry didn't give it a second thought; he closed his eyes, grabbed his bags and ran headfirst into the wall.  Except it wasn't a wall.  It was a new station, and there was a scarlet steam train bearing the Hogwarts insignia.

            Harry climbed aboard and settled in one of the many empty compartments, sliding down in his seat and peering out the window towards the entrance he had just run through.  The man had not followed him.

            Harry was left alone the entire journey, save an interruption from a witch bearing goodies that Harry bought up greedily.  During the several hours that the train cut through the British countryside, Harry did his best to absorb as much of the books' information as he could, concentrating on Transfiguration and Potions.  Ever since he began his self-education in the world of magic, Harry had immersed himself in these two subjects and they were easily his best.  Well, Transfiguration was his best.  He had once transfigured all of the stairs in the University's health clinic into elevators, but he switched it back after a day to avoid detection from any magical authorities that may or may not have been keeping an eye on him.  As for Potions, Harry knew most ingredients and instructions by heart and he could talk for hours on theory, but his living situation had prevented him from being able to buy ingredients to make these potions.  Still, he _did_ know how to cook, and figured that it had to count for something.  He was looking forward to meeting the school's Potions Master.  Severus Snape.  He was a bit of a mystery actually.  When Minerva had gone through the phase of treating her letters to Harry as a school diary, she had gone on pages and pages about the entire staff.  She loathed some bat named Trelawney.  Professor Sinistra was a very nice woman prone to wild romances.  Hagrid had been a very loyal man but the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, Grubbly-Plank, was much more effective in her class time.  Flitwick, Sprout, Vector, Lupin, they were all spoken of with great detail, and all she said about Severus Snape was that he was "a little surly, a little sour, but the best Potions Master this side of the world and he's Headmaster Dumbledore's trusted ally".  Harry had to admit that it wasn't a stunning review of the man's disposition, but he was still anxious to speak to someone that knew so much about potions.

            It was nearly pitch black by the time the train ground to a halt in a town the conductor called Hogsmeade.  Harry shrunk his bags, something that had been explained in _Transfiguration Today_, and stuffed them in the pocket of his new winter cloak.  Moving to the side of the train stop, Harry watched as people bustled about, all knowing where they were going.  Seeing that most were heading to a welcoming light in the middle of the town, Harry followed their lead, finding himself in a warm tavern called the Three Broomsticks.  Seeing that all of the tables and booths were filled, Harry squeezed into a space at the end of a long mahogany bar and he turned about to take in all of the faces that he could see.  Considering that there was a war going on, they all seemed very happy, joking loudly and drowning themselves with spirits and smiles.  Harry wondered if good news had come, a battle won or a Quidditch victory.  As much as he hoped for the former, Harry was happy to entertain the possibility that people here still had an ordinary happiness, that war was not the only thing they knew.

            "What can I get for you?" asked the woman behind the bar, who looked both happy and completely flustered by all of the business her place was seeing.

            "Just a Butterbeer, thanks," Harry answered, remembering the soothing warmth that came from a sip of that stuff.  "Is there a special occasion I don't know about?" he continued, nodding his head towards a table where a stout man with horns was doing a two-step.

            "Word has come that You-Know-Who's storage supply of the Elixir of Life has been destroyed.  Burnt to the ground, as a matter of fact.  The WWN just announced," Madam Rosmerta answered, sliding Harry a tankard of butterbeer.  

            Harry had been informed about the Sorcerer's Stone and its elixir, but the details of its recovery had been kept secret from him, a security measure that Harry couldn't fault Minerva for.  After all, they had never actually spoken, and Dumbledore's side had no idea where Harry's allegiances lay, or even if he received all of the letters.  This reminded Harry of his new problem.

            "Which way is it to Hogwarts?  I'm expected there soon but I thought I'd turn up early, given the situation," Harry elaborated, knowing that Rosmerta had no clue what the situation was but figuring that she'd never ask.

            "It's just up the way, though I'm not sure how you can get there from here, come to think of it.  I've only ever been by boat or carriage, and I doubt you can find one at this time of year," she answered, glad to take a short break from serving the other customers.  "But there's one of the professors now!  Professor Lupin!" she shouted, waving at a man that had just entered the pub.  When the other patrons heard his name, they swarmed the man, patting him on the back and asking "Isn't this wonderful news?" and other variations of the same question.  Once things had settled down into tamed pandemonium, Lupin headed over to where Harry sat.

            "Goodness Remus, you certainly look pale," frowned Rosmerta, pouring the professor a glass of wine.  "Are you feeling ill?"

            "No, tonight was just a close call," Lupin answered, smiling wearily.  Up close, Harry could see that the man was just in his forties.  The graying hair had made him seem older but when he smiled he had a young man's face.

            "You were involved?" Rosmerta whispered, knowing that the professor would not enjoy his heroism being publicized. 

            "Yes, along with a few others.  Death Eaters showed up just as we were leaving, but luckily no one was hurt too badly.  Bill Weasley lost his hand to a curse but he had sense enough to pick it back up before we apparated, so Madam Pomfrey was able to reattach it."

            Rosmerta nodded solemnly for a few seconds before Harry shifted his glass on the bar, drawing her attention.  "Remus, this young man here was asking how to get to Hogwarts and I realized I didn't know if it wasn't by the student's way."

            Lupin turned to look at Harry and if he had been pale before, Harry was sure that Lupin lost all color now.  "James," the man gasped, barely audible above the din of the pub.  Harry wasn't sure why he wasn't more uncomfortable as the man stared at him, his eyes moving up his face, his head shaking when he met Harry's eyes, understanding lighting his face when he caught a glimpse of the scar.

            "Harry Potter?" Lupin whispered, as if he too knew that Harry would loathe the attention of this crowd.  Harry simply nodded and looked at Rosmerta, sending her across the room to tend to some empty drinks.

            "God, I nearly thought you were your father, until I saw the eyes.  You have your mother's eyes," Lupin said softly, sitting down on the stool beside Harry's.

            "Do I?" Harry asked, his head feeling light from all of the smoke and noise, and from thinking about his parents.  It had always been hard for him to read the letters where Minerva talked about James and Lily Potter.  It was hard for him because he saw them as those names, abstract and lonely, not Dad and Mum.  But here stood one of their best friends.  Minerva had told him about the four young rebel rousers.  She had to, in order to explain Sirius Black's situation.  In a million years, Harry had never imagined meeting any of these people, even though he knew, when he got on that plane, that he was bound to.

            "I can't believe you are here," Lupin continued.  "Dumbledore always said that someone was keeping you informed.  He even mentioned the invitation to come train here, but I never…not a word in all this time.  I suppose most of us assumed that you would never return.  I wonder why no one told me you were coming."

            "No one knew," answered Harry, fishing out a galleon to pay for the drinks.

            "Don't, I can get that, and what do you mean?  Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?" Lupin asked, trying in vain to get Harry to put his money away.

            "I hadn't known I was coming until a few days ago," Harry answered, leaving his money on the table and motioning for Lupin to follow him outside.  He was very uncomfortable speaking where so many ears could be listening in, especially after having seen the Death Eater at the station in London.  "Something happened the other night at school and I've left early," Harry explained, hoping that his gut instinct to trust this man with his life was not completely off base.

            "What happened?  Are you alright?" Lupin asked, lightly touching Harry's elbow and pulling him towards Hogwarts at a pace that forced Harry to run in order to keep up.  

            "For now, I'll just say that I had a visitor who seemed very interested in me," Harry answered, too winded and worried to tell Lupin the entire story.  "Oh my God!"

            "What?" Lupin snapped, his eyes darting to the trees that surrounded the path.  Then he noticed the awestruck look in Harry's eyes, and smiled as he too turned his attention to the sight of Hogwarts on the horizon.  "Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry," Lupin smiled, gently nudging him forward and then walking on, giving a running commentary on the school, its grounds and its inhabitants.

            "Mind the steps, some of them are tricky," he warned, jumping over the eighth step on their way towards Dumbledore's office.  "The staircases move as well, and the paintings and the ghosts…it's a very lively place.  Though it may be dull as tombs here when compared to your university."

            "Minerva told me about…" Harry began, before being caught off by Lupin's quiet laughter.  "What?" he asked, following Lupin's lead in jumping over yet another step.

            "It's just not many people call Professor McGonagall 'Minerva'.  You'd have to meet her to understand," Lupin answered, stopping in front of a rather large stone gargoyle.

            "She did seem a bit stuffy in her letters," Harry admitted, and he couldn't help but feel that his dreams of Minerva as a beautiful young sprite had just been dashed to pieces.  Still, the sight of the gargoyle jumping to attention and moving to reveal a hidden door was enough to compensate for the disappointment.

            "Just don't let her hear you say that," Lupin answered with a conspiring wink, before knocking on the door at the top of a spiraling staircase that reminded Harry of his past bout of vertigo, before a bungee jump off the roof of the stadium had quelled his fears.

            "Come in," called a voice as ancient as some of the Classics professors at Bulfinch.  Lupin opened the door into a large, circular room, with walls a warm yellow and lined with bookshelves and portraits and what Harry recognized as a phoenix.

            "Ah, Remus, the hero of the hour," greeted Professor Dumbledore, who looked much more tired and gray than Harry had remembered from the visit at Stonewall.  "I trust that the people of Hogsmeade were celebrating the news in a more than efficient manner?" he chuckled, drawing himself into a high-backed chair before setting his eyes on Harry and coming to a complete stop.  Harry stepped further into the light, embarrassed that he had been half hiding behind Lupin's back.  "You're looking well, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes sparkling so much that the reflected firelight nearly made Harry squint, or look away.

            "Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Harry answered, having absolutely no idea what to say and nearly hanging his head in contrition when he thought of what Manic would think about a tongue-tied "Flash" Potter.

            "Please, take a seat.  Remus, would you be so kind as to fetch Professor McGonagall for me?" 

            Lupin gave Harry an encouraging smile before backing out of the room, and Harry sat down opposite Dumbledore, feeling the old mage's eyes burning into him the entire time.

            "I must admit that this is a little unexpected.  And disappointing, to tell you the truth," Dumbledore began.  "Of course, I'm not disappointed in your arrival.  Indeed, I am relieved that you have finally rejoined the magical world.  It's only that I had a little more faith in the abilities of the people I had watching you," Dumbledore explained, noting the nervousness in Harry's face.

            "You've had people spying on me?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.  If he had thought about it, it would have been obvious.  Minerva had stressed his history enough for him to know that he was of _some_ importance in the wizarding world.  It would be naïve to think that his decision to walk away from it meant they had to walk away from him.

            "Yes, your entire life it seems.  Though I haven't spoken to the American team in a few months.  It's not too unusual, considering the lack of activity, but I am concerned now," Dumbledore admitted.

            "I think you have reason to be," Harry answered, before explaining the night at Ohm, the dark mark and the Death Eater, the murder and, "they know about my powers."

            "They've known for a while now that you've been practicing magic," Dumbledore entered.  "The Ministry does have record of some instances, and the Ministry members aren't as morally sound as we can hope.  I've managed to keep them from confiscating your wand, for protection purposes, but I must say that you gave Obliviators quite a run with all of your University adventures," Dumbledore smiled.  Harry laughed right out, remembering the things he'd done, before the thing that was bothering him came out.

            "Does the Ministry keep track of all of my uses of magic?"

            "No, once you came of age they restricted monitoring to incidences involving Muggles.  Why do you ask?"

            "I'm afraid that Voldemort will know an extra something now.  The Death Eater seemed very impressed that I could do wandless magic."  Here, Dumbledore nearly shot up from his chair.

            "Where did you learn it?" he demanded, not entirely harshly, but the tone made Harry feel as if he was being accused of something.  Was that a Dark Art?  Harry had never actually read about it before and he had imagined at the time that it was a common occurrence, or a highly valued skill when his ego was feeling particularly healthy.

            "I taught myself, just like I taught myself other things that the Ministry probably doesn't know about," he answered.  He could see Dumbledore debating on which issue to address first.  The former won.

            "Can you tell me how you taught yourself?" he asked, sitting down again, his eyes still trained on Harry's, except when they darted towards something the looked like a cloudy mirror that hung above the door.

            "I can't remember where I got the idea, or which book I was reading at the time.  I was just thinking about when I was younger, before I even heard of Hogwarts.  I was remembering all of the strange things that happened, all of the bursts of magic that I exhibited.  Then I started thumbing through my books, trying to find an explanation about why the magic manifested itself at that age, something that I have yet found explained, when I started thinking about how it was possible for these things to happen when kids don't even have wands.  So I started reading up on magic theory and ancient history, and it seemed to make sense that wandless magic was possible, and probably controllable on some level.  And once I got that thought into my head, it came rather easily to me.  Levitation, transfiguration, mostly simple things that I felt wouldn't draw too much attention."

            "Well, Harry, this is a piece of information that Voldemort will be _very_ interested in, precisely because it is not a case of mind over matter.  Most wizards could embrace all that theory with all their heart and still be unable to perform the simplest of spells without a wand.  But then, that _is_ a matter of heart, isn't it?  The mind is a completely different thing.  Very well, now what are these other things that you feel the Ministry is ignorant of?"

            Harry was about to answer when Minerva McGonagall entered the room, utterly destroying Harry's innocent fantasy.  In fact, she looked remarkably similar to Professor Bhoerer, and while Harry held the woman in high regard, he'd worry over his desperation if he'd ever resort to dreaming of her while he did…private things.

            "Ah, Professor McGonagall," greeted Dumbledore.  "It seems your correspondence has come through.  May I present Mr. Harry Potter?"  Harry was sure she saw the older woman's cheeks color, though from anger, embarrassment, or something else he wasn't sure of.  Yet.

            "I…we…had no idea," she began, before pulling herself together, straightening her posture, adjusting her glasses and beginning again.  "Well, this is a surprise.  I had hoped sometimes that you hadn't received some of my…more personal letters.  I apologize for that."

            "There's no need," Harry answered quickly.  The truth was that, no matter how often he had wished that Minerva and the rest of them would simply forget about him and move on, Harry had often enjoyed the personable gossip, especially when it came from someone who clearly did not approve of such a thing.

            "Harry and I were just having an interesting discussion," Dumbledore entered, seeing that Remus Lupin had followed McGonagall back into his office.  "It seems that a Death Eater has tried to recruit him.  I think it's reasonable to assume that John Harper and his crew have either been killed and abducted," he concluded gravely.

            "Are you alright, Harry?" Lupin asked again.

            "I'm fine, but unfortunately I was not the only one present at the time."  Harry went on to repeat the story he had given the headmaster, again downplaying his relationship with Lana.  He liked these people, but he wasn't about to explain to them his string of one-night stands.  He was just about to go into the bit about wandless magic when Dumbledore put a hand up to stop him.

            "That will be enough for tonight, Harry.  I'm sure that you are weary from the journey.  Remus, will you please show Harry to new graduate wing?  I'll speak with you tomorrow concerning tonight's events."

            Lupin and Harry left the other two behind and began walking towards the northwestern section of the castle, Lupin again acting as tour guide, in between his interrogation of Harry.

            "What were you going to say up there, before Dumbledore cut you off?"

            The question startled Harry, coming right after an engaging discussion about Dementors, which Harry knew an embarrassing little about.

            "Don't you think he'll mind me telling you?" Harry asked.

            "Maybe he would.  I don't know why he's keeping it secret, but I'm sure he has his reasons.  Nevermind.  Those are the staff quarters down there and…oh no," Lupin sighed, running his hand through his hair and gesturing towards a hallway occupied by what looked like an animated shadow, all black and billowing, gliding noiselessly in their direction.

            "Good evening, Severus," Lupin greeted amiably, leaving Harry to wonder at the professor's less than enthusiastic discovery.

            "Lupin," the man greeted tersely.  "I'd have thought you'd be down in the village, boasting your triumph and getting intoxicated in a thoroughly unbecoming manner."  

            "It was hardly my triumph alone, Severus.  Besides, this young aspiring auror came to my attention and I returned early," Lupin answered, still speaking as if he were addressing an old and dear friend.  At that moment, the darker man turned his obsidian eyes towards Harry, who was again half hidden behind Lupin, though unintentionally this time.  He rectified the situation and returned the man's scrutinizing gaze.  So this was the great Potions Master.  Harry was reminded by his old History professor at school, a man who liked to prove his intellect by pacing about the classroom, barking facts at his students, laughing at poorly constructed essays and ridiculous theses.  The difference was that with Professor Finney, Harry had been attempted to laugh at the show.  With Professor Snape, it was more than a demonstration.  It was a built in character trait, and it was a genuine genius that lingered behind the demand for comprehension.  The sourness Minerva had written of shone through, and Harry's imagined persona of the man was not disappointed by the reality that stood before him, sneering as if Harry was scum stuck to the bottom of his boots.

            "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter. The prodigal son returns," Snape said, taking his cues from the apparently familiar hair and eyes that Harry possessed. 

            "Severus Snape, isn't it?" Harry returned, fighting to keep his voice neutral in an attempt to distance himself from the forced camaraderie that Lupin demonstrated towards the man.  Harry was intent on becoming an apprentice of sorts and it would never happen if he let whatever history that was between Snape, Lupin, and perhaps his father influence what the Potions master thought of him.

            "My reputation precedes me?" 

            Part of Harry was tempted to answer, "No, your nose does.  By a foot," but something in the man's eyes warned against it.  Pity, it would have been amusing to see their reactions.  Instead, Harry pointed out what would have given the man's position away, apart from Lupin's greeting.  "You have some inactive Shrinking Solution residue on your hand." 

            This answer seemed to surprise both Snape and Lupin, and Harry wondered if the staff had any idea of what he had picked up from his books.

            "How did you know it was Shrinking Solution?" Snape asked.

            "Visible texture, bright green color.  The described odor of shrivelfig, though that's just going from the book.  I haven't actually practiced making potions yet, though I hope to get some experience now, with the resources available."

            "You seem to know at least something about it, don't you?  I wasn't aware that you were pursuing independent studies in your little holiday off with the Muggles," Snape answered, though the sneer had been replaced by a look not far from appreciation.

            "Mostly book learning," Harry clarified.  "Perhaps you could find time while I'm here to give me a tutorial?  I'd love to give Wolfsbane Potion a go."  Harry couldn't miss the fact that both men started at his last statement.

            "Why that one?" Snape snapped, shooting a glare at Lupin that made Harry turn to see the reaction of the other professor.  Lupin looked as calm as he had before Wolfsbane was mentioned, though there was something of a warning in the look he returned to Snape.  The tension, along with standing there in the cold stone hallway, was making Harry uncomfortable.

            "Well," he answered, "it _is_ supposed to be a challenge.  Though maybe I should start small?  I was only eager to get on with the experimental aspect of it, though I suppose there is merit in learning the basics.  I don't presume that knowing the words and being able to cook means I'll be worth a cent…a knut at making potions."  _When did I turn into such a kiss ass_? Harry wondered, but put it down to his nerves.

            "Yes, there is certainly more to the art of potion brewing than recipes and cooking, Potter.  You need to learn the fundamentals," Snape answered, ending his staring contest with Lupin in order to judge the level of sincerity in Harry's face.

            "I understand.  I didn't jump right into Animagus training before learning how to transfigure pencils."  _Shit, I shouldn't have said that_.  Harry knew that Snape was trustworthy, but this didn't mean he'd tolerate and illegal activities, and Minerva had said something about it being illegal to be an unregistered Animagus in one of her letters concerning Sirius Black, but Harry had already done it by that time.

            "You're an Animagus?" both Snape and Lupin asked, Lupin sounding surprised and impressed, Snape sounding surprised and something a little darker that Harry couldn't name.

            "I hadn't known at the time that it was illegal, so of course I'll get registered or whatever it is," Harry blurted out, talking much more quickly and desperately than he had intended to.

            "Maybe, for now, it would be better if you didn't," interrupted Snape, earning a look of aggravation from Lupin.

            "I think I ought to show Harry to his room, Severus.  We'll continue this conversation at another time," Lupin said shortly, leading Harry away and forcing him to call out a quick "goodnight" from down the hall.

            "What was that about?" Harry asked, once they were a fair distance from where they had left Snape.

            "I have a feeling that Severus is hoping to find a new spy in this in-coming crop of Auror trainees, now that his position has been compromised, and your ability may come in useful, though I don't approve of your jumping into anything so soon after you got here," Lupin explained.

            "What do you mean, his position has been compromised?" Harry asked, his eyes floating over to a painting of a young woman waving vigorously at him.

            "Well, since it's all out in the open now, I'll tell you.  Severus used to be a Death Eater in his youth, before returning to the Light before you were born.  Since the Return, he's been a double-agent, spying for Dumbledore.  It was a very brave thing to do, and it was more than vital for our fight.  Unfortunately, he had to reveal his true loyalties when we decided that there was no other way to recover the Sorcerer's Stone."

            "That was him?!" Harry asked, shocked that the seemingly all-academic Professor had this life of intrigue and danger.

            "Yes, it was, though don't try to sing his praises for it.  He hates when people congratulate him," Lupin laughed.

            "Shy?"

            "Down right antisocial, but it really comes down to him feeling like a failure for blowing his cover.  We have more agents within the Death Eater organization, but none have risen to the rank that he once held and it is a bit of a set back."

            "But it's more than a fair trade, isn't it?" Harry asked.  "If Voldemort had kept the stone and the elixir, he'd go on forever."

            "Just don't try to reason that point with Severus," Lupin chuckled, coming to a stop at a door.  "This is where you and the other trainees will be staying.  The password system hasn't been activated yet, so anyone can get in.  The others won't be here for quite a while, so you have your pick of the rooms.  I'll see you in the morning, breakfast in the Great Hall at eight."

            After Lupin said goodnight, Harry entered the common area of the graduate wing.  It was a multi-colored affair, all of the house colors blended into one united brightness.  Three fireplaces glowed warmly, shadows playing on the walls.  Harry wandered down the halls, opening every door.  Each of the dozen bedrooms was a single, each with a large four-poster bed, some with towering bookcases, some with imposing desks with ornate scrolls and stains.  A few were themed with dragons, griffins, and unicorns.  A few had lush carpets, canopies, velvet curtains.  Some were simple in their masculinity.  Some were light and felt like the best of a woman.  Harry settled into a room at the end of the hall, removing his bags from his cloak and returning them to normal size, nearly laughing as he realized he had forgotten to set them down, resulting in a sore finger and, once he dropped the suitcase, and even sorer foot.

            As Harry dropped down onto the bed, taking in the wooden floors, the crimson carpet, the gold window treatment and mural of a roaring lion, he couldn't help but wonder what his friends were doing.  It was a Monday night, afternoon there.  No doubt they were working on their Tuesday morning hangovers. Andy would have been a little hurt by the sudden abandonment, until he read the note.  Then he would have fueled up Harry's car, crammed the elite of Manic in the backseat, and taken off on an ill-planned road trip, the best kind there is.  Probably ended up in Boston, acting semi-normal for a show before doing something completely juvenile and usually beneath them, like decorating trees with toilet paper, or mooning elderly couples.  Maybe Andy would have had a painful internal debate, trying to decide who the new shot-gun prince was to be, before picking Adam, who had no ride of his own but was useful for the size of his intellect and his monthly allowance.  As Harry imagined all of this, he wondered if he really missed that life, beyond the people in it.  Sure, it was fun.  It was easy.  And there seemed to have been more opportunities for female companionship than there was in this isolated corner of Scotland.  While Harry slowly fell asleep, he smiled in the knowledge that no, he did not miss it.  He smiled in the knowledge that he was about to do something a million times more meaningful than petty vandalism, and that he was about to reconnect with his legacy, his parents' friends, and a world that held so much more pain, but so much more opportunity for greatness and adventure and emotion and whatever it was that Harry had felt he needed the day he walked away from the Dursleys. 


	5. Stretching Wings

**A/N: I know this is extremely late and extremely short, but you'll have to forgive me. A new semester calls, including four new literature classes that have me reading quite a lot. Gotta love the Restoration poetry! Anyhoo, be patient and I'm sure I'll get this thing wrapped up sooner or later.**

Morning came as something of a surprise to Harry, who had forgotten that Hogwarts would still be in session this time of year. After he had changed into his neutral school robe, the Hogwarts crest replacing any house affiliations, and stood in front of the mirror for a good five minutes, getting accustomed to the sight and repeating to himself, "They all look like this. They will not think you're a girl. They all look like this. They will not think you're a girl," Harry had left the Auror suite only to be run over by a young girl obviously running late for class or Quidditch practice or something more important than Harry's well-being.

"Sorry!" she called over her shoulder as she flew past, not bothering to look back and down, since Harry was sprawled on the floor in a less than impressive manner. Picking himself up before others could mistake him for carpet, Harry continued down a hall that looked familiar, as if any of the uniform stone corridors were distinguishable from one another, at least to eyes unfamiliar with the many talking paintings and animates statues. Soon Harry was enveloped by a crowd of children, gliding and buzzing like a swarm of bees, sweeping him along towards an impressive set of doors. Harry already felt awkward for being the only one there taller than five feet so he refrained from stopping them to ask for directions to…wherever it was he was supposed to be. Instead, he followed the current into what could only be the Great Hall of the castle, and was relieved to see Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin and Minerva setting at the head table.

"Good morning Harry," Dumbledore greeted, gesturing towards an empty seat next to Lupin's. "I was just about to send someone to collect you, but I see you've managed to find your way on your own." The slight twinkle in the old mage's eyes hinted at multiple meanings.

"More like I was swept in with the throng," Harry admitted, helping himself to what he assumed was a goblet of orange juice, only to splutter a bit at the new taste in his mouth.

"Pumpkin juice," Lupin whispered at his side, smiling at the incredulous look on Harry's face.

"That'll take some time getting used to," Harry answered, eyeing his plate of eggs and bangers with slight suspicion.

"It's quite alright," Lupin laughed. "Chicken eggs, pork sausage. No byproducts of anything you'd see in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_."

Harry tucked in to his meal, glad that Lupin had assumed he was familiar with that text. While he ate, he could see that he was earning some inquisitive stares from the students, and some from the staff. He was doing his best to ignore the glances thrown at him by some frighteningly bug-like woman a few seats down when Minerva saved him.

"How were the rooms, Mr. Potter?" she asked, the thick Scottish brogue more curt than Harry had imagined it would be.

"Fine. Beautiful even, compared to my University quarters. But I nearly had an aneurysm this morning, waking up and finding this odd looking man floating above me."

"Must have been Peeves," Lupin laughed.

"You never know. It could have been Binns." All heads turned to a completely straight-faced Severus Snape, their slack jaws and wide eyes suggesting to Harry that they were either under the impression that Snape was a mute, or he had said something rather shocking. The sudden outburst of laughter around the table indicated the latter.

"Who?" Harry asked, once the table had quieted down.

"Professor Binns teaches History of Magic, and happens to be a ghost," Dumbledore clarified. "While Peeves is our somewhat troublesome resident Poltergeist."

Harry smiled politely and resumed eating. Eventually, the teachers and students drifted out of the Great Hall, some looking more reluctant than others, until finally it was down to Dumbledore and a very apprehensive Harry, who hadn't quite thought out what an inconvenience his early arrival might be for the Headmaster.

"Why don't we adjourn to my office?" Dumbledore suggested, standing to lead the way. "Maybe there I can think of something to occupy your interests until the training team arrives."

"When exactly will that be?"

"Sometime in June, barring any emergencies," Dumbledore answered, eyebrows knitted at the idea that an emergency was not all together implausible. "Perhaps you'd like to sit in on some classes? Of course, you are free to come and go as you please. You could even return to the Muggle world, visit your family, if you'd like. I'd prefer you to stay where we can keep an eye on you, given the fact that you are being pursued by Death Eaters, but it is up to you."

By now, they had reached Dumbledore's office and Harry had decided that the old wizard was probably accustomed to getting his way. "No, I'll stay. I wouldn't bother with going to see the Dursleys in any case. They weren't exactly broken up about my decision to go to the States for school. In fact, it was pretty much understood that I was to leave the house as soon as possible."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dumbledore frowned. "It is rather disheartening when your only family is somehow lacking. Not that I don't get along famously with my brother. When we speak once a decade, we are always completely civil." Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry, a great contrast to all other administrative educators Harry had known. Of course, Dumbledore was unfamiliar with Harry's particular brand of havoc wreaking.

"Do you think the professors or students will mind me eavesdropping?" Harry asked, already compiling a list in his head of what subjects he'd hope to brush up on.

"I doubt the professors will mind much, especially if I ask them not to. But your history may create a bit of a stir with the pupils. It's only natural for them to be curious, but it's up to you to tell them what you please. As long as it's not during class. Will you need any text books?"

"I might not," answered Harry. "I have a few books already."

After Dumbledore gave Harry a class schedule and some directions to the various classrooms, Harry made to leave, only to be stopped by a staying hand.

"Just a moment, Harry. I wish to speak to you about the conversation you and Professor Snape had last night."

Harry was wondering when the proverbial ax would fall. Throughout breakfast, he had been aware of glances thrown at him by Snape, looks that seemed to be measuring him in all respects. He was also aware of warning glares being thrown at Snape from Remus Lupin, so Harry couldn't help but imagine the possibility of being a spy within Voldemort's organization. Or maybe he was just worried that being an illegal animagus would get him in trouble, so early off in the game. After all that had happened in the span of a week, Harry had no chance of pinpointing the source of the ever-expanding knot in his stomach.

"May I see it?"

"Excuse me??" Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"May I see your transformation? I'm most curious as to what type of animal you can become," Dumbledore smiled, imagining James Potter in his youth, turning into the stag that Remus Lupin had described.

Harry felt he had no choice but to agree, so he closed his mind to all of the nagging thoughts like _Should I be worried about feeling so good in these robes_? And soon felt that familiar sensation of walking through a soap bubble, or floating to the surface of a swimming pool after feeling the barrier between water and air break over you. And then he was stretching his wings, flying around the circular room before alighting gently on Dumbledore's shoulder, the falcon in him drawn to the phoenix perched on the other side of the room. Then he felt himself growing tired, unaccustomed to the transformation after nearly a year of misuse. So he returned to the ground and changed back.

"Splendid!" Dumbledore cheered.

"Did you only want to see my form or was there…something else you wanted to talk about?" Harry asked, eager to get it over with.

"Are you frightened by what Professor Snape suggests for you?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes holding Harry's with their seriousness.

"I'd be worried if I wasn't, but that doesn't mean I'd refuse to do it," Harry answered, stopping short of beating his chest with his fist. Honestly, he had no idea where this bravery…or stupidity was coming from.

"It may come to that choice, Harry. For now, I'd suggest you stay unregistered. Having this ability concealed could serve in protecting you, and it _does_ open up the possibility of surveillance, at the very least. But if I were you, I wouldn't be expecting to see any combat time for another year, and that's if the war lasts that long. We wouldn't send you and the other trainees out ill prepared. Now, I suggest you make your way down to the dungeons. Professor Snape's class begins in ten minutes, and trust me when I say that he does not tolerate tardiness." 


	6. Settling

Two weeks later, Harry was still surprised at how quickly his new life felt so…old. It was as if he'd grown up in a world where ghosts could pass through you, where poltergeists could drench you with water balloons, where food appeared and disappeared at your table, where people wore robes and pointy hats. And where he could fly.

It was on the Friday after he arrived when Harry discovered his skill with a broomstick. After attending a handful of classes earlier in the week, he'd decided that the only ones that weren't review were the 7th year Potions class and Care of Magical Creatures. Harry knew enough from his books about these subjects, but actually being there first hand, brewing Skele-gro and grooming a Pegasus, was quite different than looking at pictures. So, with only two classes to attend during the weekdays, Harry had found himself with a lot of free time. Normally, he divided it between talking to Remus Lupin in the staff room, exploring the castle, interviewing the paintings, and reading in the library. But that Friday morning, as he ate at his own table next to the head table in the Great Hall, he couldn't help but notice the brilliant blue sky above. So instead of starting a book on Necromancy like he'd planned, Harry headed outside, first walking the perimeter of the lake and then heading to the Quidditch pitch when he heard some rather loud laughs echoing off the stands.

"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd actually be hit by a bludger," laughed Remus Lupin, as he struggled to the stuff the gyrating black ball back into its case.

"Well, I'm a bit out of practice," grumbled Wynn McFayden, who was rubbing his shoulder and glaring at the offending bludger. Noticing Harry standing at the edge of the pitch, the two men waved him over. Harry had formed a quick friendship with the pair. Lupin had made a habit of stopping at Harry's room at night and inviting him for a drink at Hagrid's Hut. Even though the groundskeeper was gone and Wynn McFayden was his replacement, the house had retained the name in honor of the fallen half-giant. Harry, who had been missing the Manic drinking games, had eagerly accepted the invitation and immediately became friends with Wynn, a Scotsman who was generally boisterous and hilarious, especially when he told embarrassing stories about Lupin, whom he'd apparently known since childhood.

"Glad to see you out of the library, Harry," greeted Lupin.

"And out of the castle in day light," added Wynn, as he sat down on the pitch, obviously worn from the game he'd been playing with Remus.

"That's not fair. I come out of the BatCave for Care of Magical Creatures," Harry answered, before realizing that the allusion was lost on the two wizards. "Anyway, no class this morning?" Harry continued.

"Not until after lunch," answered Lupin, propping his broom over his shoulder.

"Corr, you've never flown before, have you?" asked Wynn with a sudden urgency.

"Er…no," answered Harry. "Not on a broom anyway."

"How else can you fly?"

"Plane. And I once levitated myself to the top of a building."

"What on earth for?" asked Lupin, eyebrows raised in delight. Both he and Wynn had taken great pleasure in Harry's tales of Manic mischief and civil disobedience.

"I was hiding from campus security after they caught me dying all of the fountains' water blue."

"Well, give Harry your broom Remus," Wynn said after he'd stopped laughing.

"What's wrong with yours?"

"Mine's a Firebolt! What if he crashes?"

"Your faith in me is touching," sneered Harry.

"I now think I understand hoe you get along so swimmingly with Snape," Wynn answered.

"Here," Lupin intervened, putting his Nimbus 2000 into Harry's hands, trying to avoid any Snape-bashing that could eat up a few hours if his friend was so inclined.

"But I don't know what to do," Harry spluttered, looking down at the broom and vaguely wondering what Lupin would do if he started sweeping the ground with it. Judging from the highly polished handle and immaculately even…twigs…he'd have a heart attack.

"Just jump on it and go," answered Wynn.

"And this is why we're all glad that **Remus** is a professor," smirked Harry. Seeing how Wynn was so often teasing Lupin about something or another, Harry'd decided that he'd take up the defense. Besides, it was so much easier to get a rise out of Wynn. Remus would just stare at you like everything you said was completely logical, even if you were telling him he had horns growing out of his ass. It wasn't very fun.

"That's it, you've been spending way too much time in the dungeons," Wynn muttered.

"Just command the broom up and mount it like this, Harry," Lupin demonstrated. "Then kick off with your right foot. Since you've never flown before, stop after you get a few feet off the ground. Just level yourself with the horizon. Gain your balance then slowly point the handle down, the up again to land."

"Or you could just take off and have fun," Wynn added with a grin. "And if you fall, serves you right for picking on your elders."

"Oh come off it, you're not that _eld_," Harry answered, before taking off and, finding himself moving like he was part of the wind, Harry took Wynn's advice and flew off at break-neck speed, laughing when he heard a startled cry from Wynn.

Harry flew high above the pitch and slowed to a hover there, greeted with a nice panorama of the grounds. Looking down, he could see Wynn flying to catch up with him. Harry dove down, passed within inches of Wynn's head, then accelerated upwards again, turning to weave between the goal posts, then diving down to where Lupin stood, pulling up just before hitting the ground and landing soon after.

"Holy fuck, that was amazing!" Harry shouted, having found his feet and regained the breath that had been sucked out of him in the excitement.

"You could have been killed!" Wynn yelled, landing next to him and looking like he was milliseconds away from a stroke, face blending in with auburn hair.

"Not likely, considering he can outfly half of Portree's team," answered Lupin, who sounded only half as calm as usual.

"That's beside the point," Wynn grumbled, before his worry was won over by his excitement over this new development. "Where'd you learn the Wronski Feint?"

"A wonky faint?"

"No, a **Wron**-"

"I know, I was joking. Like everything else, I read about it. But don't ask me how I pulled it off. Maybe it's all the video games."

"You looked just like your father," Wynn said, his eyes clouding briefly, but not entirely in grief.

"Thanks, Sirius. Well, I've got a Potions class in an hour and I need a shower or I won't be able to smell the ingredients. See you tonight?" With that, Harry left the Quidditch pitch, and it wasn't until he'd reached the castle that all three men realized what Harry had said.

***

Harry arrived twenty minutes early for the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff seventh year class. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape had decided that this particular house combination would be much less phased by Harry's presence. The Gryffindor-Slytherin class was already tense enough with worries over the war and where fellow students' allegiances rested without the added distraction of having The Boy Who Lived sitting at the back table. Minerva had originally suggested that Harry walk the Hogwarts halls incognito, but the fact that the Death Eaters already knew Harry was at the school, and the fact that it was unusual to have a "mature student", and the fact that a lightening bolt-shaped scar was even more unusual, made the idea of an assumed identity a bit absurd. For the most part, students left Harry alone, only occasionally whispering and pointing, and only twice did someone speak to him directly. "Is that the scar?" _Yes._ "Why didn't you kill…him?" Harry hadn't answered that question. For some reason, he thought "I was only a baby," would seem a weak excuse to these kids.

Snape was grading papers at his desk when Harry walked into the dungeon. Since his first night at Hogwarts, Harry and Snape had formed an interesting working relationship, one that surprised the rest of the staff and would have left the student body utterly perplexed and maybe appalled had they known about it. Snape tended to ignore Harry in class, unless he saw that the fledgling potion brewer was about to create an explosion of minor proportions, in which case he calmly whispered suggestions, rather than ridiculing him in front of the class, which he was apt to do with any other student. Harry had the suspicion that this public lack of hostility was a concerted effort on Snape's part _not_ to blow any chance of Harry becoming spy.

Every night, the hour between dinner and the later call by Remus Lupin, Harry would meet Snape in the Potions lab for a private tutorial in potions and current events of the wizarding world. It was mildly disconcerting for Harry to be getting along with a professor, having spent the majority of his academic career making life for his teachers a living hell. Whenever he felt himself turning sycophant, Harry would redeem himself by imagining what Manic could do to a place like this castle, with magic at their disposal. It was a challenge, since most pranks could easily be waved away by a wand. Why an image of sheep grazing on the ceiling was stuck in his head, Harry didn't know.

"You're early, Potter," Snape greeted, if you could call it that.

"I was restless. Just flew a broom for the first time," Harry grinned, trying to imagine a Severus Snape on broomstick. Wannabe intimidating robes billowing out…Harry shuddered and reminded himself not to get a ground seat in the upcoming match. Can't be a pretty view, looking up. Unless players wore pants. Or were female. Maybe…no, too young. Harry may have been unaccustomed to waking up alone, but he still had some moral fiber.

"Just like your father, wasting your time with such nonsense," Snape sneered.

"I know you think you're insulting me, so keep pretending if it makes you happy. Anyway, aren't you hoping for a Slytherin Quidditch Cup this year?"

"For the house's sake, not the sport's sake," Snape answered, setting aside his papers and turning to write the day's lesson on the board. There was a charm he could use, but he didn't like to bring his wand to class. His little speech to the first years would make it hypocritical. Besides, he relished the screech of chalk on slate. Reminded him of his great aunt's deathday parties. Harry just assumed the man's wand was lodged somewhere in his person.

"Furnucucide?" Harry asked, reading the board.

"Yes."

"Anything to do with boils?"

"Yes. Any more questions?" Snape snapped.

"Em…can you freeze potions to preserve them, if you didn't have a wand handy or the proper storage equipment?"

"Hypothetically, yes. Unless there's dragon's blood or liver in it. But it isn't recommended. Twenty points if you can tell me why."

"For which house?"

"Whichever. Though I'd suspect you'd do well in Slytherin."

"Why? No offense, but your kids are a bunch of snot-nosed bastards from what I can see."

"Fair enough. Answer my question and I'll give you a brief lesson on the houses. More rewarding than points, considering."

"Alright. Freezing not such a good thing. Because it would have to thaw naturally or risk being corrupted, and that takes too long?"

"Is that a question or your answer?"

"Answer."

"Fine. Close enough, but you forget that freezing can often destroy the structure of organic cells. So I'll give you the ten-knut version. Gryffindors are supposedly brave and chivalrous. Macho. Hufflepuffs are loyal and little worker bees. Lemmings. Ravenclaws are wise and witty and wearisome. And Slytherins are cunning and ambitious."

"I can really tell how unbiased you are."

"Well, to be fair, I was nearly sorted into Ravenclaw, so I can't fault them. They at least make my job easier, barring the few that will always insist on exceeding the maximum length."

"Back to your original point, I don't think I'd be a Slytherin."

"Why not?" Snape asked, silently daring Harry to criticize his house. Criticizing his house's students was one thing, but the governing principles behind it were, in Snape's opinion, beyond reproach (at least if anyone asked him).

"I'm not ambitious. How can I be? I have no goals in life."

__

Then why are you here? Snape wanted to ask, but that was something he didn't need Harry thinking about. Considering always leads to reconsidering. "So which house do you think would suit you best, bearing in mind that there is rarely a perfect fit?"

"Well, my romantic history proves I'm anything but chivalrous, so Gryffindor's out. And contrary to how I've been acting since I've arrived, I'm not all that academic, so Ravenclaw's out. And I _am_ loyal to my friends, when we're in the same country, so I suppose I'd be a Hufflepuff."

Snape couldn't help it. He laughed. Loud and hard and lasting until the first student walked in, and then he shut up really fast, except to whisper to Harry: "As much as I loathed your father, I think you're doing him an injustice by allying yourself with those harebrained badgers. No, you're a Gryffindor. Pity, I was starting to like you."

***

Harry's after-dinner tutorial with Snape proved that they were still friends. In some fashion. They were twenty minutes into a discussion on why adding any unicorn byproduct with any dragon byproduct would cancel each other out when Professor Dumbledore joined them unexpectedly.

"Ah, the man himself," Snape smiled. "The Headmaster is responsible for the pioneering research concerning the uses of dragon blood, Potter."

"And I've invented an interesting variation of ten-pin bowling, but no one ever talks about that," Dumbledore answered, eyes twinkling. Then he turned his attention towards Harry. "Harry, I was hoping you'd cut your lesson a bit short. Seems the world has stopped turning and I have _nothing_ to do for the next half-hour. I've been meaning to assess your ability to perform wandless magic."

Harry nodded, even though he was sure it was unnecessary to give his approval.

"Would you like me to leave?" Snape asked.

"No need," Dumbledore answered. "Luckily, you are no longer in a position where you'd be forced to betray any confidences."

"Nothing lucky about it," Snape snarled. Dumbledore just patted the younger man's shoulder and made to sit down at the nearest worktable.

"Begin whenever you are ready, Harry."

"What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?" Harry asked, not enjoying the feeling of being an organ-grinder's monkey. At least _they_ got some quid for their performance. Then a memory of doing a striptease for Dee's 21st stifled his growing sense of indignation.

"Anything," Dumbledore answered. "Levitate something."

"Soon, Snape was flying around the room, and yelling every obscenity known to man until Harry lowered him to the ground.

"I don't believe that I qualify for 'something', Potter," the Potions master hissed, his face an odd palate of greens and reds.

"I was only levitating your underwear," Harry answered, plastering a look of innocence on his face.

"I'm not wearing any!" Snape cried in triumph, before realizing that having this fact known to the headmaster was not exactly something to be proud of.

"Well, I'd say your levitation is up to speed. Try something more difficult," suggested Dumbledore.

Harry transfigured a table into a more comfortable chair for Dumbledore to sit in.

"Thank you. Can you change something inanimate into animate?"

Harry concentrated, and soon his Moste Potente Potions book was a common garden snake, a tribute he hoped would placate Snape.

"Very good!" Dumbledore applauded. "Now change it back."

Harry was about to comply, but his curiosity got the better of him. After all, he'd never made a living thing before. "Just a second," he said, before striking up a conversation with the snake.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asked it.

"What do you mean? I've been here as long as you have," the snake hissed.

"Well, what do you remember, before I started talking to you? Where were you?"

"I was lying on the table, of course. And before that I was in your bag. Has it always been so cold in here?" Harry shrugged, turned the snake back into a book, and smiled at the two slack-jawed professors. He didn't notice the shock on their faces; he was too relieved that, no matter what shape he'd given the book, he hadn't been meddling in creation of souls, or whatever it is. Of course, now he'd have to worry about the level of consciousness in furniture, but he could put that aside for now.

"Well, that was unexpected," Snape said, breaking Harry's reverie.

"I just wanted to ask it a few questions," Harry answered.

"Yes, it's perfectly _natural_ to converse with serpents," Snape chuckled. Honestly, how many cards can one boy hide up his sleeves? But Dumbledore seemed to have gotten over his surprise relatively quickly.

"What did you ask it, Harry?" the Headmaster asked.

"I wanted to know if it remembered anything from when it was a book. Luckily, it did."

"Why does it matter?" asked Snape.

"When I'm ready for the power and responsibility of creating a sentient being, I'll do it the old-fashioned way and knock a girl up," Harry smirked.

"Definitely not Slytherin material," Snape mumbled.

"I think it's a fascinating subject, Harry," Dumbledore entered. "One that you should discuss with Professor McGonagall. It has the promise of being a journal article of great significance. In the meantime, why don't you head back to your room? Don't want to keep Professor Lupin waiting."

"Yes, I need a stiff drink. Goodnight, professors."

***

Harry had just told Remus Lupin and Wynn McFayden about his time with Snape and Dumbledore. The unnatural silence between the three drinking partners had forced him to say _something_, and he'd thought that Wynn at least would get a kick out of Snape bouncing off walls, or going commando. He was right on both accounts, and even Lupin nearly spit out his whiskey when he'd heard the last bit. He dreamt of telling the surly Severus: "Don't get your knickers in a twist. Oh wait, you don't have any." But alas, Harry had sworn them both to secrecy.

Whatever lightened atmosphere Harry had hoped to create was jeopardized by his revelation that he was a Parslemouth, but Wynn was too preoccupied to say much about this unusual talent other than echoing Snape's "that was unexpected" and giving Remus a pointed look which suggested further discussion at a later date. Right now, he wanted to talk about what was said on the pitch.

"Harry, about what you said earlier-" Wynn began, before stopping, still unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Harry saved him.

"Listen, Wynn, if you want we can just call it a slip of the tongue and leave it at that, no explanation necessary," answered Harry, still hoping he hadn't been wrong in his guess.

"I think it would be safer for everyone involved if we did just that," suggested Remus. Harry nodded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Wynn.

"How did you know? I mean, what made you think I was-" Wynn asked, torn between being relieved that, at least in their minds, he was finally Harry's godfather, and being scared witless that it had been so obvious to a boy who'd known him only two weeks.

"I really wasn't certain, until now," Harry answered awkwardly. When he'd dreamt of meeting his godfather, of having a real family, he hadn't thought it would have to be so…restrained. Of course, he hadn't thought they'd be friends, sitting around drinking cheap whiskey, talking about reckless stunts and dangerous one-night stands. God, he wanted to hug the man.

"What made you suspect?" Lupin asked.

"Minerva got quite chatty in some of her letters," Harry confessed, missing a brief look of panic cross Lupin's face as he thought of some secrets the witch could reveal about him. "Once she'd explained Sirius Black's innocence, she'd gone on and on about his schooldays with my dad and his friends. All the trouble they got in and out of. And how Remus here was so close to him. So when I saw you two together, and you'd talk about my dad but avoid talking about Sirius, even though Minerva said the staff knew about his situation, and there was the way you kept looking at me, Wynn. Well, I thought, either I've got something hanging out my nose, or he's gay, or he's my godfather. Or a combination of all three."

"You've got lots of things hanging out of your nose, but it doesn't bother me," Wynn grinned. "And if I were gay, you definitely wouldn't be my type."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Who would be your type?" shooting a sly grin in Lupin's direction.

"Ewww," both Wynn and Remus chorused.

The night dissolved into drunken laughs after that, and Harry found himself stumbling back to his room just before sunrise, happy and numb and drunk from the feeling that he wasn't homesick. He was home.


	7. 'cause you gotta have friends

February soon melted into March and before Harry knew it, it was summer. Since his first few weeks at Hogwarts, a comfortable routine had been established, and whenever monotony threatened to settle in and drive Harry mad with boredom, some amusing human interaction would save him. Like the letter he'd received from Andy in late-March, describing the ill-fated road trip to New Orleans, and the arrest of the whole of Manic for public drunkenness and indecent exposure. A nice little Polaroid accompanied the sordid tale and Harry couldn't keep himself from running out to the closest Muggle town to post a return letter and buy a few postcards for the rest of the group of friends he'd left behind. 

Harry's initial friendship with Remus Lupin and Wynn had only deepened after that conversation that silently revealed that Harry was in the company of family. The three of them occasionally recruited some seventh-year Quidditch players for a pickup game on warm evenings, and at nights they still met at Hagrid's Hut, though Harry had given up his occasional drink at Minerva's suggestion. He'd been visiting the elderly witch in between her morning classes, sometimes talking about the philosophy involved behind transfiguring objects into animals, sometimes talking about Quidditch, of which the Professor was inordinately fond of, and sometimes just…talking. About Bulfinch, Muggle literature, growing up with the Dursleys. Everything that Harry had never really talked about before. There was something very comforting about chatting with the woman, twenty minutes here, forty there. He had a feeling that it might be something like talking to a mother, but he had to admit to himself that he had no idea how that really felt.

His relationship with Snape, however, had nothing maternal about it. Under the master's tutelage, Harry was becoming quite proficient in brewing potions and, once Dumbledore had calmed the man's fears about trusting Harry so blindly, Snape had also taken to explaining the history of the war, excerpting from the Life and Times of Voldemort in sporadic intervals while the two brewed potions and prepared ingredients. Occasionally, they would drop the formality and speak about something personal. But unlike the light-hearted banter he shared with Remus and Wynn, and unlike the friendly histories he shared with Minerva, Snape and Harry dispensed with the David Copperfield bullshit. When they were personal with each other, they were _personal_. They gave each other the why. Why Snape had become a Death Eater in the first place. Why he had come back to Dumbledore one winter. Why he _hadn't_ begged for mercy, and why he _had_ begged to be killed. Why he wasn't married. Why he treated his students the way he did. Why he loved potions. And Harry would explain why he hadn't chosen Hogwarts. Why he left England. Why he had so many one-night stands. Why he didn't follow that Death Eater. Why he pulled pranks that even he knew were childish and immature. Why he studied magic on his own. Why he felt he needed to learn everything he could, and do everything he could, on his own. Why he was willing to spy on Voldemort, if he was needed. And after all these things were said, there was never a need for Snape to say, "None of this leaves the dungeons," or for Harry to say, "You tell anyone I said that and I'll let Wynn blab to the whole school that you don't wear underwear." The two men weren't beyond humor, and they did often laugh, even when they were talking about such things, but the fact that they'd never dare tell **anyone**, even Dumbledore, about what they spoke of…well, it was understood. Neither could explain why either felt comfortable about disclosing things they barely dared to write in journals, late at night, hidden under bed sheets, but they'd long since accepted that it was a necessary part of their friendship.

As for the rest of Harry's day, it was simple enough. He'd wake around nine, something he was rather proud of, and either go for a jog around the lake or take a quick flight on the Firebolt he'd ordered in April. After a quick conversation with Minerva, he'd have lunch on his own in the kitchens, having taken to the house elves that knocked themselves out to serve him until he's insisted that they pay him no mind. After lunch, he usually attended Care of Magical Creatures, depending on what the given subject matter was. Then he'd walk out to the greenhouses, having decided sometime in March that attending Potions class was pointless, given his private tutorials. At the greenhouse, he'd help Professor Sprout with some of the more strenuous tasks that were either too dangerous for seventh-years or too menial for first-years. After an hour of that, he'd return to the graduate dorm for a quick shower and then he'd head to the library, having long ago stopped groaning to himself that he'd transformed into a bookish wizard with virtually no social life and a lamentable streak of celibacy. Soon, dinner time would role around and he'd eat in the Great Hall with the rest of the castle's inhabitants. Then there was his hour with Snape…Severus…and then the customary call by Lupin. Harry would come back to his dorm sometime around ten or eleven, lounge in his boxers in front of one of the fireplaces or do some free reading, and then go to sleep. Yes, he was a party animal.

It was a week into June when this routine was threatened by the encroachment of a bushy-haired, buck-toothed young woman. It was quite late, nearly one in the morning, and Harry was lying on his favorite sofa, reading a rather ridiculous book about alectromancy and the many uses of roosters, when the door burst open and the aforementioned girl came in, cheeks red from trying to hold onto a decidedly squirmy ball of orange fluff that she held under her arms. Harry, in a state of undress, would have had the grace to blush if he hadn't been so shocked. He'd completely forgotten that his purpose for being there was for an auror training program that would inevitably included fellow trainees. _Dumbledore might have warned me_, he thought to himself, before being distracted once the girl opened her mouth.

"There, Crookshanks! You'd think I was trying to feed you to a Ridgeback!" the girl shouted, practically dropping the cat in her frustration, but smiling fondly enough at the creature to let Harry know that she wasn't really mad. Harry stood up, debating on whether he should use his book to cover his boxer shorts, or to just let the matter go. He decided on the latter and began to introduce himself. "Hi, I'm-" but that was as far as he got.

"Gods! You scared me," the girl started, only just noticing Harry standing there. "Of course, I'd hoped I'd be the first one here, since lessons don't begin until next week, but I knew _you'd_ be here. You're Harry Potter, of course. It was in the Daily Prophet that you'd returned to England. Did you really go to an American university? I visited Harvard after I graduated Hogwarts and took a few courses before coming back to the English magical community and I found it quite enjoyable. How are the rooms here? Are they singles? House dorms for students usually have about five beds in each of them, did you know? And boys and girls are kept separate. But I suppose we're old enough now for that to be a non-issue. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she concluded, taking a deep breath and extending her hand to Harry.

Harry just stood there and stared at her, wondering where to begin. "Are you always so high strung?" Seemed like a nice enough jumping-off point.

Luckily, Hermione thought so as well, since she immediately started laughing, dropping her flustered manner as she dropped onto the couch. "Others well say yes, but I've gotten better since seventh-year," she smiled. "Sorry about that, I'm just incredibly nervous about this whole thing."

"About living near boys?" Harry asked, wondering if he was trying to flirt or if he was just being friendly. Hermione didn't immediately strike him as his type, but then, he had so many types and he sorely missed them.

"About being an auror actually," Hermione answered in a decidedly just-friendly manner. "I'll have you know I lived with a boy for a whole year."

"Your brother?"

"Nooo. Granted, he was gay, but still, he had a penis," she grinned. _Oh, I like her_, Harry thought to himself. He was just about to make a comment about his own…equipment, when the door was thrown open yet again and a rather tall young man came stumbling in, cursing under his breath when his foot caught on the rug, and cursing rather audibly and creatively when he saw who was already in the room.

"Oh flying fuck, what are you doing here?" asked the man. Harry assumed from the level of hostility in the man's voice that the question wasn't directed at him. In fact, he was almost positive that, as far as the man was concerned, Harry wasn't even in the room.

"What's it look like?" Hermione snapped. "I got my invitation back in January."

"You do realize that, to be an Auror, you can't just throw a book at a Death Eater's head, don't you? It will involve _using_ magic, not reading about it. In fact, shouldn't you be in a _library_ somewhere?" the young man challenged, using a sneering tone that Harry did not care for, even if he's only known Hermione for a few minutes.

"Last time I checked, _Ronald_, I was a Gryffindor just the same as you," Hermione snapped in retort. "And shouldn't you be running errands for one of your more successful brothers?"

Harry, feeling rather uncomfortable and even more embarrassed by his lacking wardrobe, decided to intervene. "Is this a love/hate thing?" he asked.

"No!" they both shouted, Hermione flopping back down onto the couch and the young man storming off down the hall to find choose a room. Clearly, Harry hadn't said the diplomatic thing. But he didn't let that bother him.

After a few silent moments, Hermione seemed to realize that Harry was still standing there and she flashed him an apologetic smile. "You know, that wasn't entirely true about the love/hate thing," she confessed. "Ron and I were in the same year and house and we dated for a while, all of sixth-year actually."

"I take it that it didn't end well?" Harry asked, sitting in the chair closer to the fireplace and tossing his book onto the coffee table. He noticed Hermione noticing the title and heard a soft snort. "Hey, it's not like a believe in this crap, but it couldn't hurt to read about it," Harry answered, not defensively.

"Oh, I think you and I will get along swimmingly. Can't say the same for Ron and I, though you'll probably like him. And no, it didn't end well. It ended terribly. And he's probably so pissed about it because it can't be blamed on either of this. And Ron hates losing control of _any_ situation."

Harry wanted to ask whose fault it was, but it was getting late and, really, he hardly knew this girl. So instead, he threw out the standard, "Do you want to talk about it?" and counted on the answer being no. And it was.

"Maybe later, if only to give you my side before he becomes your best friend," she answered, smiling at the look of doubt on Harry's face. "Hey, he's not always like that. If he was, I wouldn't have dated him for so long. And he's probably just upset that he was surprised about me being here. I am too. I would never have thought that we'd end up practical strangers, after…well, it's not important. I don't want him to be an auror and he doesn't want me to be an auror, and that's how it is. And if you and I become friends, I suspect I'll be upset about you wanting to be an auror too. But I suppose you don't have much of a choice, do you?"

That surprised Harry. Even though he felt like he _had_ made a choice, he had already accepted the fact that, in all honesty, there was no question that Harry was destined for this particular fight. And he'd accepted the fact that his Hogwarts friends, Lupin and Wynn and the rest, knew this as well. But no one had admitted to this other than Snape and the fact that it was obvious to this virtual stranger kind of sucked the wind out of his sails. And he wanted to deny it, but decided it wouldn't do any good. "No, I suppose I don't. But let's keep that between the two of us." With that, the two parted ways and Harry returned to his room.

Harry woke up around eight the next morning, the dull pounding at his door nearly letting him dream that he was back in Massachusetts. "Yeah?" Harry called, though the word might have been lost as he cleared his throat and groaned about the light at the same time. Hermione poked her head in the room, her eyes going wide as saucers and her face going red as…red things, and quickly shut the door again, opening it a moment later and shrilly suggesting that Harry cover himself up.

"I thought you lived with a boy for a year? I thought you _dated_ that Ron guy for a year too?" Harry chuckled while he pulled on some shorts and opened the door to let her back in.

"Well, maybe I gave the wrong impression about my _gay_ flatmate. He didn't actually walk around the living room, waving his…and anyway, Ron and I were only sixteen," she answered, sitting herself down on the floor in front of Harry's bookshelf, practically drooling over his library.

"No midnight rendezvous at the Astronomy tower then?" Harry smirked, while he hunted through his drawers for a shirt.

"Highly over-rated," Hermione sniffed. "We preferred empty classrooms. I can't believe you have this book!" she laughed, holding out a battered copy of _Charm Your Own Cheese_.

"It was in the bargain bin and it's come in very handy I'll have you know," Harry smirked. "Anyway, what are you doing in here? Hiding?"

"Hiding? Hardly," Hermione muttered. "Well, ok, I might be. I ran into him out in the hall and he's still put out by the whole thing."

"The break up or you being here?"

"I honestly don't know. He never was this bad our seventh year, but we probably avoided each other so well that he didn't have a chance to act like a bloody wanker." Harry had to laugh at that. She sounded like Dee when his old friend tried to do her Brit imitation and only ended up sounding like a caricature of Absolutely Fabulous. It wasn't pretty.

"So, now you want to talk about it? I was going for a jog around the lake, but you're welcome to come." 

Twenty minutes later they were walking around the lake, Harry being polite enough and tired enough to slow things down and hear Hermione out.

"See, Ron and I started dating at the end of our fifth year. I think everyone was really surprised, because I wasn't all that popular in our classes. Probably because I raised my hand so much. But you'd probably understand. I'm Muggle-born, and no matter how open minded the kids in my house were, I still felt I had something to prove. But that's beside the point. Ron's best friend until fifth year was a boy named Dean Thomas, and the summer before fifth year, he and his family were killed in a Death Eater attack. And when Ron came back to school…I don't know if he just needed someone to take his mind off it or if he really liked me, but we became friends and then right before the summer we started dating. And by the time we were in our sixth year, it was real enough that Dean had nothing to do with it."

"Sounds great," Harry entered, relieved that he wasn't bored stiff yet.

"It was, until the summer after that year. My house was attacked. Thank god my parents lived, that Aurors came in time to scare the bastards off, but…I was raped. And after that, Ron couldn't look at me the same way and I couldn't be with him the same way."

"You mean that bastard tossed you aside because you couldn't…after?!"

"No!" Hermione answered fiercely. "No, it wasn't anything like that! He just refused to leave my side. He became so protective of me that it started feeling like I was turning helpless, just so he'd have someone to help. And I couldn't stand being with him because I felt like I put him at danger. And because I was afraid that one day, they'd kill him, and that if I could make myself not care about him anymore, it wouldn't hurt so bad when that day came. Or comes. It was idiotic, of course it was idiotic. But we were 16 bloody years old and we were scared that one of us would day, and one of us would be left behind. So we left each other behind."

"Yeah, that is idiotic," Harry answered. After a few minutes, they were back at the castle, giving up on actually running anywhere. "So, what happened, is that why you want to be an Auror?"

"Yes. Not revenge, though. Just to make sure that it doesn't happen to anyone again."

Harry left Hermione at the entrance to the dorm and went out in search of Minerva, whom he eventually found in the staff room.

"Hey Min," Harry greeted, sitting down at the table and pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice, which he had quickly gotten addicted to.

"How many time do I have to tell you not to call me that, _Harold_?" Minerva answered.

"Is my name Harold?" Harry asked. Casually, like he was asking the time.

"You don't know?" Minerva asked in return.

"I suppose I don't. Everyone always called me Harry, and when I found out about my parents and the virtually non-existent relationship between them and my Aunt, I figured that my aunt wouldn't know who I was named after or whether or not 'Harry' is short for anything. They had to have all my paper work and what not redone when I was a baby."

"Well, it is short for Harold. After you father's great uncle I believe. But you don't seem bothered about not knowing."

"I'm more bothered about not knowing my parents to care much about a name," Harry shrugged. "Moving on to more cheerful topics, I ran into some new friends last night and thanks very much for telling me they were coming. Practically starkers when Hermione walked in."

Harry patiently waited while Minerva finished choking on her tea. "In all honesty, I'd given up on them coming yesterday. What time did they get in?"

"One I think, but the point is that you knew they were _supposed_ to come and you didn't say anything."

"You didn't ask. Now, let's go over that principle of solipsism that we started talking about last week."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was making his way down to the kitchens for lunch, stomach growling as he was detained by several ghosts on the way. He was getting ready to kill them again when he was saved by an intervening hand.

"Hi. I'm Ron Weasley. We almost met last night but…I was a little distracted," greeted the tall red-head. Ron looked a lot different this day, wearing a grin that seemed miles away last night.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered, taking the proffered hand. "Boy, have I heard a lot about you."

It was an interesting effect, seeing Ron's face pale and his ears go bright pink. "Not all bad though, right?"

"No, 'course not. I'm on my way to the kitchens for lunch. Want to come?"

"But the Great Hall is-"

"Too crowded and loud for my tastes," Harry finished. "Besides, you get better food in the kitchens. The house elves really try to outdo themselves if someone's watching."

The pair of them continued down to the kitchen, practically talking each other's ears off, much to Harry's surprise. Despite the praises Hermione had sung for her ex, Harry had naturally assumed that he'd have to pick a side and Hermione had won because she had gotten there first. And she was cute. But Ron really was a nice guy and reminded Harry of Andy, only less Manic. The two talked about Quidditch, about Hogwarts teachers (Harry choosing to ignore Ron's near hatred of Snape for the time being), about the good pubs in Hogsmeade, about Ron's brief and agonizing internship at the Ministry of magic, and, finally, about Hermione.

"Look, let's get this out of the way before I get sick of both of you," Harry said the moment Ron had mentioned the girl's name. By now they were well into lunch. "I like Hermione a lot already and I think it's important for everyone in this training program to be friends if we can. Because one day we'll probably need to save each other's lives and I want people I trust and respect and care about to be behind me. And it's shaping up like Hermione will be one of those people. Now, she told me about you guys, the five-minute history. And she told me about the break up. But I want to know if whatever happened last night is going to last all year, because really, Ron, you seem like a nice guy, but I swear-"

Ron stopped him right there. "Don't worry about it Harry. I was just surprised, is all. And she probably explained why, so no need to get into that. But I'm planning on being friends with her. I'd already die for her, so I might as well get something good out of it, right?" he smiled.

"You still love her then?" Harry asked, not too sure what he wanted the answer to be. Maybe it would be good either way it went.

"In a way. But I've got a fiancé back in London, so you have a crack at her if you want, with the understanding that I'll have to kill you, or at least severely maim you, if you mess her about."

"Well, maybe I'll just wait and see," Harry smiled. He had a feeling that he'd just signed a contract with these two people, and that his whole routine was just about fucked. But that might not be a bad thing. 


	8. that small slice

**A/n: Ok, I got the hint from the reviews that you guys were more than a tad peeved with me for taking so long to update. I'd give you my excuse, but if you're like me, you probably wouldn't care. You'd say "It's inexcusable" and I couldn't fault you for it. So here's another chapter. Bit short, more than a bit uneventful, but I have a week off before classes start again and I figured that if I gave you a chapter now, maybe you won't be screaming for my head if, God forbid, it takes a while to come up with a new one. So here we go. First day of training, a few mild innuendoes, and Harry has a conversation with our favorite Mr. Snape. And please read the song lyrics at the end of the chapter, because it'll help you know what Harry's been thinking about.**

A week later, Harry was stretched out on a comfy bit of grass on Hogwarts ground, the rest of the new crop of Aurors peppering the green and chatting nervously. It was the first morning of training, the class was about to begin in a few minutes, and most of these people had only arrived the day before. Harry gingerly pushed himself up with his arms behind his back, briefly tossed a squinted glance at the sky, and then let his eyes roam over the new faces, trying to remember everyone's name and to discern their character by the way they held themselves. After a few pathetic attempts at any deep inquiry, he settled on the names. Cedric Diggory, whom Hermione had said was a Hufflepuff a couple of years ahead of her in school. Aidan Troy, who Ron was practically drooling about as he explained the man's brief career in professional Quidditch before the League had suspended games following a massive slaughter at a World Cup two years ago. Two women, Annelise and Emma. And four miscellaneous guys named Adonais, Trader, Jonah and Alec. If pressed about it, Harry could guess that Jonah was the short one and that Adonais seemed to have a nasty cough, but really, all their faces blended into one background: they were all, the women included, former employees of the Ministry of Magic that had probably been tapped by Dumbledore as the few individuals brave enough and moral enough to be there.

"You still here, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just trying to remember everyone's name," Harry answered.

"I could tell you, but you should have to work for it," Hermione grinned.

In the past week, the three of them had become fast friends. Ron had pulled Hermione into an unused classroom one day and, just when Harry was about to give up on waiting for her, she came out, flustered but smiling.

"Quick shag for old times' sake?" Harry leered, holding in his laughter as Ron crept out of the room, face aflame after catching what Harry had said.

"Don't be crude, we just talked about it," Hermione answered. "And Ron should be insulted if you think he'd finish up the job in under five minutes," she grinned.

"Well, you make do with time allotted," Harry answered. The two of them never told him what was said in those five minutes that had changed everything between them, but then he supposed it was private.

"Harry?" Ron's prodding him in the ribs propelled Harry back into the present. 

"What?"

"I was asking if you had any idea who was going to be training us, since you seem to be so chummy with the staff," Ron explained, not with a little chagrin. A few days ago, Ron had finally made Harry snap by calling Snape a "greasy little twat that was probably itching to crawl back to his Dark Lord, even if everyone thinks he's a big hero". Harry had been trying to downplay his relationship with the professors at Hogwarts, especially Snape, because he didn't want to feel alienated from Ron and Hermione. The truth was that the three of them were the youngest of the new Aurors and the shared sense of being both unprepared and underestimated was something that had helped make them as close of friends as they could be after a week. Harry didn't want to appear to have a special link with the staff, especially when he was certain that his mere name was enough of a strain on normality. But when Ron said that about Snape, Harry had just about lost it, deriding Ron for his immaturity, for his prejudice and lack of gratitude, for his inability to see that Snape had risked a lot for the cause that Ron was willing to die for and that the Potions master was, next to Dumbledore, probably the most important member of the force against Voldemort. Of course, Ron apologized, spluttering something, probably in shock over someone actually _defending_ Snape, and Harry had felt terrible about it (most likely, he thought to himself, because he sounded a bit too sanctimonious for his liking). Both of them had dropped the issue within minutes, but occasionally Ron would make harmlessly barbed comments about Harry's Great Unrequited Love for Snape, gentle teasing that Harry would probably settle with a sharp pummeling of Ron's arm or any available appendage if it kept up much longer. 

"No idea," Harry muttered, twisting his head back towards the castle in an attempt to see if anyone was coming yet. A note had been posted in the Graduate Wing that the trainees were to assemble in back of the greenhouses by eleven o'clock Monday morning. A murmur had gone through the common room and it was agreed that _no one_ knew who was going to be teaching them and what, exactly, there was to learn.

The answer was fast coming, as Albus Dumbledore himself suddenly appeared before the group, smiling as the trainees quickly pulled themselves into respectable sitting positions, Annelise and Emma fussing with their hair for some reason that Harry preferred not to think about. These women, probably in their late thirties, were a bit old for Harry's tastes, but he hoped to Heaven they were too young for Dumbledore's.

"I see everyone has made it safely to Hogwarts. Welcome," Dumbledore greeted, nodding at the people who had only just arrived at the school. "I trust that you all well make yourselves acquainted in your free time. Please see that you do. It is imperative that you know each other, that you trust each other, and it would be an added pleasure if you liked each other as well. I myself know, trust, and like each one of you. That is why you have been chosen for this training program. Under normal circumstances, Aurors are appointed and trained by the Ministry. But I am afraid that the Ministry's ability to meet this responsibility has been compromised by corruption amongst the ranks. If any of you has an overwhelming loyalty to the Ministry and the current administration, I'd ask you to leave now." No one moved an inch.

"Very well!" Dumbledore smiled, lowering himself onto the grass, his need to be intimidating over. "Some of you are probably wondering what on earth you've done to deserve such an…opportunity. It must be obvious to some of you that there is no way that I know each of your characters so well as to warrant blind faith in you. If any of you think your success here depends on an affirmation of _my_ opinions of you, feel free to pull me aside for a private meeting, or I can sing your praises in public if you prefer," Dumbledore added, his blue eyes sparkling and quite infectious as everyone nervously laughed. "But on a more serious note, our fight against Voldemort has nearly been crippled at times by betrayal, and the final stage of this training period involves a painless, but invasive, test to prove your loyalty to the cause. If any of you should fail any of the tasks put before you, including that final test, your memories will be wiped. If any of you have issues with this, you may leave now." No one moved an inch, though Harry could see a few eyes darting about nervously.

"Good! Good! Now, I'll give you a brief overview of the program and we can adjourn until after lunch." 

The program which Dumbledore proceeded to describe seemed simple enough. The trainees were to be taught by a series of lecturers, including representatives of the Ministry and the Hogwarts staff, as well as by Dumbledore himself. The program was divided into three stages, though the time given to each stage was subject to change if the war demanded immediacy or if, by some unlikely miracle, the whole bloody thing ended, in which case the entire concept of the program would be revised. The first stage was to last roughly three months and was basically a period composed entirely of lecture and practice on school grounds. The second stage was to last the month of December and was really a working vacation: all of the trainees would be given flats in Muggle cities so they could learn how to move about the non-magical community with ease (a bit redundant for Harry and some of the others, but no one was complaining). The third stage was another three months, this time an apprenticeship tailored to the individual's strengths. The fourth stage was the aforementioned confirmation of loyalty, and then it was out into the real world. Harry found it decidedly depressing that he was the only one shocked to hear that a group of elite Aurors would still be _needed_ seven months from now. His time with Snape in the dungeon obviously hadn't tarnished his optimism, and he's assumed that, with the Elixir of Life out of the picture, the war with Voldemort would come to a head in a month or two and that would be the end of it.

Harry, Ron and Hermione followed the rest of the class back to the castle at a slow pace, a million thoughts running through their heads. Well, a million and one in Ron's case, since he was the only one that was anxious to eat lunch. "I can't believe we have to wait seven months before we actually _do_ anything!" Ron finally blurted out, tired of wondering about what on earth Dumbledore could have possibly seen in him that made it right for him to be there.

"Well, it's better than them sending us off to get killed before we're ready," Hermione answered. "Not that I'll ever be ready to get killed…you know what I mean." Harry figured Hermione must have been very preoccupied with the morning's orientation if she was reduced to talking rubbish.

"I'm trying not to think about it," Harry answered. "It's better to focus on December. A whole month off, put up in a cushy flat in London. If I keep that in mind, hopefully I won't go completely mental being stuck here for three months with just you lot and a bunch of middle-aged professors."

"Don't worry, Harry. We can always go to Hogsmeade if you're desperate," Ron grinned.

"Desperate for what?" Hermione asked, fully aware of the warning glare Harry was shooting in Ron's direction.

"Our ickle Harry here is a bit lonesome for company of the female persuasion," Ron answered.

"Oh, you're feeling a bit randy, are you?" Hermione grinned. "Why would you need to go to Hogsmeade to fix that? And more importantly, why would _you_, Ron? Crystal balls turning a bit blue?"

"I don't get it, what's the gag?" Harry asked, disconcerted by the evil smirk plastered on Hermione's face as Ron sputtered for words.

"Ronald's fiancée is a quack," Hermione clarified, helping Ron regain his verbal skills.

"Lavender is _not_ a quack! Fortune-telling is a completely viable profession, and what do _you _know about it?" Ron answered, glaring at Harry, who was nearly doubled over for laughing.

"Absolutely nothing," Harry answered, regaining his breath, "beyond the fact that I was practically mauled by Trelawney my second week here, and if your girlfriend's response to bad news is to predict a highly painful death by castration, I can feel your pain." Very soon all three of them were laughing as they made their way to the Great Hall to eat, deciding that they may as well be sociable, even if they'd rather eat with the House Elves.

@@@

It was a dark and stormy night (and, as hackneyed as that sounds, it _was_ summer in England) about two weeks later, and Harry found himself drinking a rather nice glass of malt whiskey in Severus Snape's rooms.

"I should feel honored, you choosing to drink all of my good liquor instead of crawling off to that hut with your friends," Snape said, hands and eyes roving over the titles on his book shelf, looking for a tome about Bri Leith and its fairy mound that Harry had been interested in reading.

"Yes, you should," Harry answered, trading the book Snape handed him with the first draft of the paper Harry had been writing about concerning transfiguration and what Harry had learned through parseltongue. 

"You do understand that you couldn't publish this now, even if you wanted to? No one can know about your abilities until the war is over," Snape commented.

"I don't mind. It's a mute point anyway. It's not good enough to be published," Harry answered. He was proud of himself that he wasn't just fishing for compliments. It really was that awful.

"That's the spirit," Snape smiled (here, Ron would have a brain aneurysm and Hermione would run for Madame Pomfrey, but Harry was used to it by now, even if it was obvious that Snape's cheek muscles weren't exactly thrilled by the activity). "So why aren't you with Lupin and McFayden?"

"Remus isn't feeling very well. Does it always last days past the moon?"

"Usually only a few, but I know he had a cold before the transformation, so that does not help matters. I'm still surprised he told you, so soon." Surprised was an understatement. When Harry had come to Snape one afternoon two months ago and had asked to be involved in the brewing of Lupin's Wolfsbane potion, Snape had nearly tripped over his robes in his shock. As far as he knew, being a werewolf wasn't something Remus Lupin was particularly proud of.

"I think that, because we've gotten to be friends, he didn't want me hearing it from someone else. Like Hermione," Harry answered.

"Miss Granger knows?" Snape asked.

"He says she figured it out his first year teaching here. But she hasn't mentioned it to anyone, including me, as far as I know. She's good at keeping secrets."

"I meant to thank you for brewing the potion this month. I normally don't mind doing it, even if I act like it's the height of inconvenience, but I have a lot of plans for research this summer. Besides, I suppose Lupin appreciated it more, coming from you."

"I actually didn't tell him that I made it," Harry mumbled through his shot glass.

"Fashionably modest?" Snape asked, his eyebrow threatening to attack his hairline. 

"No, I wasn't quite certain that it would work. I figured that if it poisoned him, you could bear the criticism," Harry smirked.

"Well, he's alive so you can gloat about it now, give him a new reason to sing your praises. And why would you think it would fail?"

"That's right, I forgot. Couldn't possibly fail with _you_ supervising."

"Quite right," answered Snape, refreshing Harry's drink. "How is the training coming?"

"Somewhere between bloody awful and very shitty thank you," Harry answered, only to be met by a severe roll of the eyes from Snape's chair. "Fine, sometimes it's very interesting and not at all a complete waste of time. When it's Dumbledore or someone from Hogwarts, that's all well and good. But the people from the Ministry…not exactly an inspiring example of human intelligence, if you know what I mean."

"I do, but don't let that stop you from taking the piss."

"We had Arnie Peasegood from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad on Wednesday. His big advice was not to trust anyone wearing black and/or a mask." Snape was caught halfway between a scowl and a laugh, looking down at his own ensemble. "I'm serious though. He talked for half an hour about what the best kind of food to eat on a surveillance is! And don't get me started on what Angus Conners of the Department of Magical Catastrophes had to say."

"What is it that you were expecting to learn?" Snape asked.

"I don't know, but I'm starting to think that there really isn't much anyone can teach us. We all have a solid background in spells, charms. We probably need to be taught some good defensive charms and some immobilizing defense charms, hexes that are highly painful but not lethal. We need to learn wartime strategy, basic surveillance techniques, interrogation methods, crash course in Death Eater psychology. Well, human psychology at any rate, because thinking of them as something other than human will _not_ help anybody. We need to know Voldemort's history like the back of our hand. Don't we?" Harry was aware that it was a lame finish to such a diatribe, but he was honest enough, at least with Snape, to admit that he really didn't know just how ignorant he was. He hoped it wasn't too hopeless.

"It sounds like you have it all figured out," Snape answered after a long silence. "Of course, you've only been at it for a few weeks. Don't you think that Dumbledore has thought of all this?"

"I suppose so, but the problem is that the other students haven't. I don't even know why I have," Harry answered.

"I don't know why either. Perhaps its because you were brought up distanced from all of this. Maybe you'd think that that would put you at a disadvantage, but most of us have tried to protect children and people not directly involved in the war efforts from the war mentality. I've never agreed with that. It makes for an ill-prepared and dangerously naïve generation. But others wanted to preserve some sense of…innocence I suppose. They didn't want people like your friends Weasley and Granger to have to think about what it took to bring down something like Voldemort. But trust me, it's coming. The headmaster has to have some involvement with the Ministry in this program, or he's risking the potential authority you new Aurors will have. If he doesn't comply and have some input from the Ministry, the wizarding government would refuse to recognize you as officers of the law and that would undermine the influence you'd have over the war. You'd just be a bunch of nameless underpaid spies. So suffer people like Peasegood. It's good to know not to drink gallons of tea while on a manhunt. You'll get to the important things soon enough."

"But Severus, do you really think we can be so frivolous with our time? Do you think Voldemort will wait seven months for me to become fully trained before he comes after me?"

"I really don't know," Snape answered, his face blank, the sign that he was fighting defeat. "Where are you going?" he asked, noticing that Harry had stood and was making his way to the door.

"To do something entertaining and immature," Harry grinned.

In the morning, it didn't matter that the students of Hogwarts had already gone home for holiday. It didn't matter that only a handful of staff members and about a dozen of Auror trainees were there to appreciate it. It didn't even matter that Harry would be stuck cleaning it up. What _did_ matter was that, if only for a few moments, Harry, Ron and Hermione could look up at the Great Hall's ceiling, watch the sheep they had conjured graze on the sky, and laugh. Laugh for the memory of sneaking around the castle at midnight, trying to avoid Peeves and the peevish Mr. Filch. Laugh for the sight of one of the sheep relieving itself just above Trelawney's big bug head. Laugh for the sound of Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Wynn, Minerva, and even Snape chuckling through Trelawney's shrieking. Laugh for the feeling that they were children again, for a spot in time. Children who were preparing themselves for war, but children hopeful enough not to mourn for their youth. 

****

The End…of that chapter. Here's the song that the chapter title came from. This song's been going through my head for a week now, and maybe I'll write some angst-ridden fic independent of this thing, but here the song is relevant because Harry does NOT want to become this person. So there.

"Mr. Chainsaw" by Alkaline Trio  
  
When was it that you lost your youth or traded  
It for something more for them to use so jaded  
Why is it that you never said  
I love you more than just a friend  
I pray this gridlock never ends  
And when we get there just depends  
I found out recently that you are leaving  
For good I hope I softly tell my ceiling  
It's better now to be alive  
Sleeping is my 9 to 5  
I'm having nightmares all the time  
Of running out of words that rhyme  
Everything that you could never say  
Would never matter anyway  
I took a hammer and two nails to my eardrums long ago  
Before that steak knife took my eyes  
I looked up to the sky  
For the last thing I would ever see  
For the last time I'd cry  
When was it that you sold your life or wasted  
Every bite of that small slice you never tasted  
I guess I should be one to talk  
There's nights that I can't even walk  
There's days I couldn't give a fuck  
And in between is where I'm stuck  
From blocks away I heard somebody screaming  
That small child inside of you that you left bleeding  
You stabbed him up not once but twice  
Cubicles will now suffice  
Some say it's the roll of the dice  
I think they're wrong I know I'm right  
Every breath that I could barely breathe  
Could barely make it past my teeth  
I took a blowtorch to both of my lungs a long long time ago  
Every step that i could take  
Every one more difficult to make  
Mr. Chainsaw came and took my legs a long, long time ago  
In case you're wondering   
I'm singing about growing up about giving in  
In case you're wondering we're singing about growing up  
About giving up and giving in


	9. it's beginning to look a lot like Xmas

"This is a really stupid idea, Harry."

Wynn and Remus Lupin were in Harry's room, watching as the young man threw various items into his suitcase and buzzed about, reaching for a sock here, crawling under the bed for a wand there. It was the last day of November, and in the morning eleven fledgling Aurors were being unleashed on the unsuspecting Muggle world. May God have mercy on their souls.

"What, not enough jumpers?" Harry asked, frowning at his wardrobe. While on school grounds, he could easily cast a warming charm on lighter clothes and not have to worry about the biting British frost. But out in the _real_ world, it would look a bit odd if you were walking around London dressed in jeans and short sleeves. And, even though Harry wasn't too concerned about it, the trainees _were_ being evaluated on their ability to blend.

"I think Wynn meant that the whole outing is stupid," Remus clarified, his articulate tongue wanted to rebel at the crude phrasing. 

Harry had expected this argument to come up sooner. In fact, he'd been waiting to be pulled aside by Dumbledore and kindly forbidden to leave Hogwarts. But when the date of departure drew ever nearer and still no one had made a move to clip Harry's wings, so to speak, he'd slipped off to the nearest telephone and, before he knew it, the first annual Manic reunion was in the works. Andy, Emma, Dee and Flik were already waiting for him in some youth hostel in Kensington, and the plan was that they'd go from there to the block of flats the school had rented for the students near Hyde Park. So, needless to say, this last minute attempt by his drinking pals was doomed to fail.

"It's not as if I'm going out there alone," Harry reminded them. "For one thing, all the other trainees are going to be living practically in the same building. For another, Dumbledore explained that someone will be spying on us most days to make sure that we're blending with the Muggles, studying their ways, making a few friends in case we ever get into trouble and can't contact the magical world. And also, I _have_ had three months training for this."

"So what do you do when a Death Eater, or Voldemort himself, comes to pay you a little visit?" challenged Wynn, adopting that authoritarian father routine that he would occasionally affect, on nights when Harry was heading towards a catastrophic hangover or when it looked as if he was ignoring his work or, even worse, ignoring Wynn in favor of Severus. Those times, Harry had found it slightly endearing. Now, he was tempted to just roll his eyes and yell out a melodramatic "You're not my father!". Maybe he would have if he wasn't certain that bringing James Potter into this would kill Wynn, and really piss Remus off.

"Look, when I get to the flat, I'm going to set up those security wards Dumbledore taught us, of course. And I'll be keeping my eyes open when we go out. But, in the unlikely event that a Death Eater gets into my flat, or makes a move against me in broad daylight, because I'm not daft enough to go out at night without _all_ of the trainees around me, then I'll do what I was taught. Try to incapacitate him while defending myself the best way I know how, and follow all the protocol. And if Voldemort shows up, well, I'm not sure what you expect me to say about _that_. Really, who'd know what to do in that situation, beside put up a hell of a good fight?"

"Or pretend to go along with it," Remus entered.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"You know what he means," Wynn answered. "If there's a way to give him what he wants while maintaining your integrity, you're not to go about dying heroically."

"Go about dying heroically?" Harry laughed. "Well put, Wynn. I'll keep that in mind."

"This is serious," Remus reminded.

"I know," Harry answered, looking pointedly at Wynn, who just sighed at the joke and looked as if he was about to tell Harry off, before he was interrupted. "Look, you can't keep me here forever," Harry continued. "What did you think you were training me for?"

"To be a stay-at-home Auror?" Wynn answered.

"Harry, we hope you have fun with your friends," Remus answered at the same time, earning a softened glare from Wynn.

"Oh, we always do," Harry grinned. "What are you going to do for Christmas?"

"The Headmaster always does the castle up for the students who are staying behind," Remus answered. "Other than that, I have no plans."

"How about you, Wynn?"

"I'm staying here with Remus. Going to drink some Butterbeer, eat some ice mice, open a few presents," Wynn answered.

"Well, I'm probably going to come back here for Christmas," Harry said, having failed to wrap his news up in a nice bow, but Wynn looked so depressed about Harry's decision to leave that Harry figured his planned surprise would do more good now rather than later.

"Why?" Wynn asked, struggling to form the 'W' with his mouth hanging open in a grin that looked like it belonged to someone knocked senseless by a bludger to the head.

"Andy and the rest have to go back before the holiday, preparing for exams and spending some time with their families. Besides, Ron was saying the other day that I _had_ to see Hogwarts at Christmas, and this might be the only chance I have," Harry answered, leaving out the sentimental bit about wanting to be with Wynn and Remus and Severus and Minerva for this Christmas.

"That's wonderful," Remus beamed. "Oh, it's almost two! We better leave you to finish packing and get to bed."

"Thank you, Harry," Wynn murmured when the three of them shook hands in farewell. Harry had the feeling that Wynn had wanted to say "Be careful," or even "Don't go," and was very grateful that he'd restrained himself. In truth, Harry was nervous about this trip. It seemed an inevitability that something would happen. Harry had seen enough horror movies to guarantee an upcoming confrontation. Even Snape had agreed that Harry would most likely be approached. Probably a few days after settling in his flat, since who ever it would be would need time to become familiar with Harry's habits. Probably when he was alone or with very few people, since they wouldn't want to cause a scene. They would want to take Harry alive, unless Voldemort was going to call on him personally. In which case, it wouldn't matter where Harry was or who he was with. Yes, Harry and Snape had nearly every variation of this event planned out. So, of course, nothing went according to plan… 

***

"Flash!" Harry barely had time to look up as he stepped out of the cab before being belted by half a dozen snow balls. Of course, his friends hand failed to realize that the tightly packed little suckers had formed a rather strong hydrogen bond and what had started as harmless little snow balls had become rather deadly mini-glaciers.

"Bugger!" Harry screamed, as one collided with his head. Maybe it wasn't big enough to sink the Titanic, but it _was_ enough to knock him off balance, making him trip over his bag and land with a resounding CRACK on the curb, having left his dignity hovering a good five feet above him. _Wonderful, the Boy Who Lived Only to be Done in By an Ice Cube_, he muttered under his breath. Of course, he didn't have too long to feel sorry for himself, because soon enough the elite of Manic had come running to his aid, only to fall on their arses on the way. "Ah, I can feel the nostalgia already setting in," Harry grinned, pushing away apologetic hands from Dee and Emma, who were trying to touch the gaping head wound above his right eyebrow. "Leave it, just help me up. This puddle of melting snow that I'm sitting in is going to shrink something rather important if I don't stand up and defrost."

"What, wearing the leather thong again?" Andy grinned, offering Harry a hand.

"He can't be, we sold that on Ebay, remember?" Flik entered, grabbing Harry's bag off the road.

"So where's my share?" Harry asked, wiping his cut and whispering a low grade healing charm while trying to remember if he ever owned a leather thong…it was possible, he had to admit. The things he found in his drawers (of his dresser, that is) occasionally left him baffled and swearing to lay off on the beer. Like that feather boa. And where the hell did he get fuzzy lavender handcuffs?

"Went towards auto maintenance, and I can't believe you left _him_ your car," Dee scowled, jerking her thumb at Andy. "I thought we _had_ something, unless you and Andy had the same something, in which case I don't want to know," she shivered.

"I do!" cried Emma.

"Oh no, you'd just print it in your paper and tarnish my legacy," Harry answered.

"I am deeply, deeply offended," Andy pouted.

"Come on, we all know you're nothing to write home about," Flik teased.

"Anyway, I don't write for the paper anymore," Emma announced. 

"What happened?" Harry asked, a bit shocked that Emma had given up what had been her life's passion only seven months ago.

"Well, we all took a big bite in the ass for that going away stunt of yours," Andy admitted.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded, torn between utter guilt and wariness about a man that had been easing his way towards the group, who were now on the tube, heading towards Harry's rented flat. But the man just kept walking by, not even sparing a second glance at him.

"It wasn't actually that big of a deal," Flik clarified. "Emma wasn't fired or anything, but her editor started giving her shit about writing up Manic stories, so she quit."

"The editor didn't want you writing about Manic?" Harry asked. "I thought that was the only thing that kept people buying the student paper when they started charging for it."

"Well, he seemed to think that we had _real_ news," Emma sneered. "Get this, a big group of tree huggers who were protesting sweat shops volunteered to get themselves arrested for protesting near the Fountain, which is off limits as a public forum."

"So?" asked Harry. "Sweat shops are still bad, right?"

"That's not what's stupid," Andy answered. "It's a noble cause and all that shit, but these kids are really….I mean, they set up Tent city on the green, camped out for two months there, just when pre-frosh tours started up. But they all _wear_ Nike and things made in Taiwan and they aren't really roughing it. They go home to shower and everything. Plus, they made a whole big deal after the arrest about setting up a big march, and you know where they marched to? Back to the fountain! Supposedly a symbolic statement about free speech, but the fountain is like two feet from the tents!"

"Did any of you _really _get in trouble for the TV show?" Harry asked, after everyone stopped laughing at The Great Unrest at Bulfinch. 

"One of our anonymous party crashers snitched on young Flik here, but since the Powers that Be couldn't prove he actually made the tape, nothing happened," Andy answered. "But we're being watched," he whispered, invoking the spirit of his hero, Fox Mulder.

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, glancing about in a theatrical fashion, a cover up for his genuine sweep of the perimeter. By now, they were climbing the stairs to the flat, and Harry hoped that the place was big enough for five people to crash for a few weeks.

"I think some administrators gave words of warning to our professors. They're all getting anal about word count in essays," Dee answered.

"Maybe because you're taking _real _classes now, instead of pottery?" Harry grinned, unlocking the door and taking a thorough inventory of everything inside. Kitchen to the right, hall leading straight back, presumably to a bed room and bath room. Living space with sofa, television, dining table, and, on the far left, four cots pushed against the wall. Obviously, Remus had told Dumbledore about Harry's friends staying with him.

"Aw, no chocolate on my pillow?" Andy whined, tossing his bag onto the nearest bed. "This place is pretty posh. How the hell did you afford it?"

"Don't be stupid Andy," grinned Dee. "We all know he's been pimping himself out for spare change."

"You're just bitter because he charged you double," Emma retorted, shocking Harry to no end. Before he'd left the States, Emma was never the type to get into a sparring match with Dee's bitchiness. She just didn't have it in her. She must have found herself a boyfriend.

"Yeah, what the hell have you been up to, Flash?" Flik asked, as he discovered the computer that was hooked up on a desk in the corner. "How come we never got any interesting postcards from you? Surely you can beat indecent exposure?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Just been reacquainting myself with some old friends and living off my inheritance."

"Inheritance? Did your folks die?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, when I was 1," Harry answered. In his happiness at seeing them again, Harry had nearly forgotten how dishonest he'd been with his friends. He'd given them the impression that he had either disowned his family or they had disowned him, but he'd never said anything about being an orphan, or living in a cupboard, or his prick of a cousin, or…anything remotely true to him, other than what he _was_, at that moment. And he'd told himself that that was all that mattered, but really, he hadn't even done that. Not when he had to hide the biggest part of himself.

"Shit, you never said," Dee mumbled. A trite "sorry" didn't seem appropriate.

"I know, I kind of wanted a clean break from everything when I went to the US."

"Then why'd you come back here?" Emma asked. Harry found himself very uncomfortable under the stare of three sets of eyes (Flik, as per usual, had opted out of the personal moment and was instead scavenging through the fridge for something, like any good friend would).

"I had a chance to help some people who had been wanting to meet me for a long time, old friends of my parents that couldn't be there when I was growing up. Long story, and we don't have time," Harry blurted out.

"Why, where are we going?" Emma asked.

"I told some of my friends that we'd meet them for lunch at the pub," Harry smiled, just trying to imagine how Ron would react around four Muggles. As much as Harry liked his new friend, the poor guy was hopeless when it came to the non-magical world. Hermione had already told him the story of the first time Ron saw a television. After he finally stopped screaming, he'd picked up the closest thing and threw it at the mummy on the screen. Unfortunately, he broke the TV and telephone in one shot. Which was an odd reaction, considering he came from a place where you could have conversations with paintings…

Harry led his friends to the pub Hermione had decided on before they'd left Hogwarts. It was an uneventful trip, except when Andy nearly got himself run over by a double-decker because he had been looking the other way when he crossed the street. Luckily Harry had been working on his wandless skills, and he'd discretely cast a levitation charm on his friend, making it easier to pull him out of the street before being ground into Salisbury steak. Soon enough they were at the Smiling Goat, and Harry was introducing Manic to Ron and Hermione, his "old school friends." He'd wanted to tell them the truth, or something close to it, even toying with the idea of showing off his new skills while perpetrating the biggest prank of modern Manic, but Hermione had nixed the idea straight off, going on about section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock's Statute of Secrecy or some such nonsense. So in the end they'd decided on a safe story of Ron and Hermione being childhood friends from primary school.

The seven of them settled into their seats and hit it off immediately, even Flik, who was retaining some guise of his antisocial tendency by keeping his face hidden behind a menu. While Flik was hiding, the girls were talking with Hermione about how cute Harry must have been when he was a baby, Ron was gawking at some of the Muggle patrons in the pub, and Andy was howling at the "spotted dick" on the desert menu, Harry was trying desperately to keep his breath steady as he saw a familiar face come through the door. A major portion of Snape's lessons to the Auror trainees was information on all current Death Eaters, and Harry had no doubt that it was Lucius Malfoy walking towards his chair, an oily smile plastered on his face. Before Ron and Hermione even noticed what was happening, Harry had jumped out of his chair, throwing his hands open, eyes narrowed in concentration as the force of his spell threw Malfoy against the wall. Then Harry noticed that Malfoy hadn't even drawn his wand…it was a distraction…it was…

All Harry heard was a shrill scream from Emma, the beginnings of binding spells shouted from Ron and Hermione, a soft laugh, his own gasp, and a faint pop signaling that the Death Eater behind him had apparated away. All Harry felt was a slight sting, and then, when he reached around to feel a warm spot on his back, blood on his hand. All Harry thought, as he fell to the ground, was "Well, that was unexpected…"

****

To Be Continued…obviously. Mwahaha, cliff hanger for all you lovelies that were so anxious for a new chapter J I know, evil, evil. Don't worry, my summer class load shouldn't keep me as busy this go 'round, and I'll update soon.


	10. a little bit broken, Or Ooh my pancreas

**A/n: New chapter…huzzah! Disclaimer: this is JK's etc. And it's rated R for cursies (not the magical kind har har har…well, them too). And I noticed some of you wonderful lovely reviewers who make my life worth living have a hankering for some slashy goodness. Well, much as I love reading HP/SS scenarios (especially Sushi and Minx, check them out!), this story is not slash. But if anyone's interested in writing an AU of this AU, feel free, as long as you email me first. Or maybe I'll write an AU of my AU, if I ever finish this thing. But this chapter is dedicated to all you HP/SS fans out there. Nice little conversation between the boys that you could read into if you're desperate. J **

Harry opened his eyes, saw only brilliant white, and thought to himself, "If this is heaven, it's rather cliched." But if the presence of pain in several parts of his body was enough to throw his guess of locale into suspicion, the sound of Wynn bellowing "What the FUCK happened?" was enough to convince Harry that he was _not_ dead, and that he should probably close his eyes if he wanted to hear the answer to that question.

"Calm down, Wynn," Remus Lupin very nearly growled.

"No, I want to know exactly where the hell you two were when this happened?" Wynn snarled right back. There was a stretch of silence, and Harry could only guess that somewhere in there Ron and Hermione were searching for the answer to Wynn's question.

"Now Wynn," Dumbledore began, and Harry almost sighed in relief knowing that the Headmaster was around to keep things from getting out of hand. But then-

"No, he's right Headmaster. We were totally unprepared," Hermione mumbled, her voice like gravel, like hardened tears. Harry usually left people before he ever had to hear that noise. _Maybe I should have left…maybe I shouldn't have wok_- but Harry stopped that train of thought before it could reach the station. Only once in his life, back on Privet Drive when the cupboard and the one light bulb and the spiders and the heat of the summer and the suffocation had gotten to his head, had Harry ever Ever thought he'd be better off dead. Now, with people around him that obviously cared about him and who he half-loved, he wasn't about to piss them off with self-negating thoughts.

"But you're not expected to-" Remus began, before being cut off by a _real_ growl from Wynn and an interruption from Ron.

"We _are_ expected to, Professor Lupin. We've been training for months for this, and I didn't even have my wand out until Malfoy was knocked out cold. Even then, I didn't notice Macnair until he'd pulled his knife." The self-hatred in Ron's voice prompted Harry to join the waking world.

"To be fair, neither did I," he said, taking note of how hoarse his voice sounded. 

"Harry!" Wynn exclaimed, rushing over to embrace his godson but gratefully being intercepted by Remus before any damage could be done.

"Thank God you're awake," Hermione sniffled from across the room.

"Was it in doubt?" Harry asked, trying to smile but genuinely curious…as if "curious" could cover the anxiety that he felt…that "well, that was unexpected" could have been his last words. Not exactly the dignified send off he'd always imagined. Maybe something from Tennyson. Or Keats, depending on how pissed off he was at the time. 

"You've been in a coma for three days," Ron grinned, trusting that everyone knew it wasn't _that_ he was grinning about.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked. He'd get back to the coma thing later.

"In custody," Dumbledore answered. "Not what Voldemort had planned, I assume."

"The whole thing doesn't make sense," Remus interjected. "He should have known that Harry wouldn't be completely helpless. And Lucius Malfoy is _not_ the type to make a proud and public display of where his loyalties lie. Even if it is obvious to anyone, he is always trying to keep some semblance of innocence in case he's caught. I don't understand this move on his part. And a knife? Since when do Death Eaters resort to that?"

"Well, it _was_ Walden Macnair," Snape answered. Harry hadn't even noticed the other people in the room; Snape, Minerva and Madam Pomfrey were all leaning against the bed beside Harry's in the Hogwarts infirmary. 

"Last time I checked, I'm the only dangerous creature in this room," Remus snapped, obviously severely unsettled if he forgot himself in front of Ron and Hermione. Luckily, they were too preoccupied to notice.

"How do you feel, Harry?" Hermione asked, moving closer to take his hand.

_Oddly numb_. "Fine," he answered. "Where are my friends?"

"They were memory charmed and sent back to the flat," Ron answered. "They think you had to go away for a funeral. You were to call them if you woke up."

"If?" Harry asked. Pesky coma had worked its way back into his mind.

"Harry, how do you really feel?" Snape asked. 

At that moment, Harry felt very amused, because he could almost hear Ron's jaw dropping, probably astonished that Snape had used Harry's first name.

"Sore. Which is strange, because I feel numb, too. Does that make sense?" Then he noticed nearly every pair of eyes look down and away and anywhere but into his. Except Snape's. _No, Severus isn't the type_. "What was on the knife?"

"Shrivelfig. Asphodel. Mercury."

"Did you get it out?"

"A certain percentage."

"Enough?"

"No."

"Can you all leave please?" Harry asked, this time his eyes looking down and away, because he was exactly the type.

Even if some of them didn't know what was at stake here, they began to file out of the room. Except- "I can stay if you'd like," Severus offered.

"No, it's fine. Just give me a minute to check for myself. I mean, you can't tell for sure, can you?" Harry asked.

"No, we couldn't tell anything until you woke up," Snape answered.

"Do me a favor and explain it to Ron and Hermione, yeah?"

"And Wynn," Snape smiled, closing the door behind him.

Harry breathed in and out for a few minutes, trying to brace himself for disappointment. Shrivelfig. Asphodel. Mercury. Magic could cure a severed spinal cord if applied in time. But those three ingredients…

Harry turned his head to the side.

He flexed his fingers.

He used his arm to pull himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.

He twisted his trunk from left to right.

He tried to wiggle his toes. _No, don't think about that yet. Other things before toes._

He tried to bend his knees. _No. Don't_.

He tried to move his hips. It was an awkward motion, leaning against the headboard, but he managed it. _Thank heaven for small miracles. At least I can still_…

He briefly thought about testing for…virility, but decided that it would be mortally embarrassing if the better part of the Hogwarts staff walked in during **that** diagnostic. Besides, with these drugs, impotence wasn't really the worrying factor. Most people were too dead at this point to care.

Now back to the knees and toes. Harry used what little upper arm strength he had to pull his legs up and hang them over the side of the bed. Still no control. _This simply won't do. I'd have a hell of a time maneuvering about the castle in a wheel chair. Too many bloody stairs_. Harry couldn't believe the touch of levity in his interior monologue, but he also couldn't believe that he couldn't walk. So it must have been the shock.

"Fuck this," he whispered to himself, and concentrated with everything he was on his feet. Willing them to move. And they did. Just not how he'd hoped.

"You can come back in," Harry announced, having opened the infirmary door to the people waiting for him.

__

He turned his back on the shocked faces and willed himself back onto the bed, concentrating on moving his legs in a natural stride and on keeping his feet as close to the ground as possible. And on keeping his composure, hiding the fact that sustaining such a magnified Levitation spell in his weakened condition was making him light headed and a little sick to the stomach.

"Nearly perfect, Harry. Now you just need to add footsteps and you'll be fooling everyone," Snape said, as gently as he could. Wynn must have missed the finer nuances.

"What are you on about? He looks fine to me, walking around. You're just trying to scare everyone," Wynn scowled, but to be honest with himself, he had noticed the way Harry had relied on his arms to get himself adjusted on the bed.

"You have to levitate yourself?" Remus asked.

"Yes," Harry answered, wondering briefly if he'd ever be able to fly again. Probably. It was mostly in the arms and in the heart, Wynn had said. But what about the other flying? _Shit. _That's the spirit.

"I didn't think you could do that," Hermione observed, reverting to her scholarly role to hide the desperate sense of guilt she was feeling. 

"How's the rest of your mobility?" Snape asked, ignoring the hovering question.

"Nothing below the hips, but everything else is fine," Harry answered. "Except my back is killing me."

"Here," Pomfrey interrupted, shoving a vial in his hand before making herself busy on the other side of the room.

"We'll come up with something, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You can't be devoting your energy and concentration to this when…"

_When I'm meant to kill Voldemort_. Harry was almost mad that Dumbledore hadn't come out and said it. But then, he was mad at nearly everything right now, and choosing Albus Dumbledore as his target made no sense when people like Macnair were in the picture. "What exactly do you think he meant to accomplish here?" he asked, directing his question at Severus and Remus. "As you said, I'm not _completely_ helpless. Do you think Voldemort was so full of himself that he thought he could just stab me once and be done? No, don't answer that. Do you think he meant to kill me?"

"Yes," Ron answered, even though he supposed it wasn't his place. 

"I agree with Mr. Weasley," Snape answered. "If he was still interested in recruiting you, he wouldn't have made so serious a threat. Assuming this wasn't some half-cocked scheme by Malfoy and Macnair to gain favor. That possibility aside, this **was** an attempt on your life. Voldemort has nothing to gain by just maiming you. Am I correct in assuming that now you want his demise to be even more painful?"

Harry just smiled at that, and at the look of horror on Hermione's face, as if wishing for anyone's death was the most twisted thing in the world. _Or maybe she thinks Severus making a joke is twisted_.

"Why not Avada Kedavra then?" Minerva asked, the first time Harry'd heard from her all morning. "And why give up on recruiting him so quickly? We know that in some cases he's courted perspective Death Eaters for years."

"He must be more desperate than we thought," Remus answered. "For him to give up on a very powerful wizard like Harry, he must think that any chance that Harry would come after him is enough of a threat to warrant death."

"What about the curse?" Wynn asked.

"Macnair's pride in his ability to slay his prey has often gotten him into trouble with the Dark Lord," Snape suggested.

"Possibly," Dumbledore answered, obviously not settling on any explanation. "I think it's best if you two return to London," he continued, leveling his gaze at Ron and Hermione.

"But Harry-"

"Will be fine," Dumbledore finished. "And you, Mr. Weasley, need to acclimate yourself to a Muggle environment. As for you, Miss Granger, could you please see to Harry's friends? Tell them that they are free to stay in the flat until the end of the month, and that Harry will write to them soon. Harry, I don't think it wise that you leave the protection of the school at this time."

"No, I don't suppose you would," Harry answered, reluctantly waving goodbye to his friends as they slipped out of the hospital wing. Once they were gone, Harry asked the others to leave, holding Snape back with a glance. Wynn looked as if he wanted to say something about that, but thankfully Remus grabbed him by the elbow and led him off to Hagrid's Hut, where Wynn meant no doubt to vent his frustrations about the entire matter, probably choosing to focus most of his anger at himself, with a little of Ron and Hermione for variety. 

"You need to rest," Snape said, once everyone was gone. He sat down on the bed beside Harry, looking oddly uncomfortable in his casual posture and not knowing what to do with his legs as they dangled against the high bed frame.

"Haven't I been in a coma for three days?" Harry asked, keeping his mind off the failure of his calves to stretch like he wanted them to by turning his attention to the scratchy linen pajamas he was in. He'd never owned pajamas before, being a financial nonentity when he was a child and too embarrassed to buy his own when he was older. And just who had but these things on him, he wondered.

"It's not the same thing," Snape snapped, now looking much more in his element.

"You're just aching to yell at me, aren't you?" Harry grinned, glad for the distraction.

"Is that an invitation?" Snape asked.

"Look, I know I fucked up," Harry sighed. Self-blame was just as good as anything. "I didn't realize that Malfoy was trying to distract me until after I disarmed him."

"As I understand it, he wasn't even armed," Snape answered.

"Yeah. Why is that?"

"Strips him of culpability. 'I don't know _why_ Potter attacked me, Minister. The boy must be _mad_! I didn't even have my wand on me,'" he whined, doing what Harry assumed was a melodramatic impression of Malfoy.

"Maybe that's the grand plot, getting me thrown in Azkaban for being cocky."

"In your defense, I'm assuming that Macnair was not in the room until your back was turned," Snape admitted grudgingly.

"So why do you want to yell at me?" Harry asked. He knew of course, but it was easier to keep talking. He had the sinking suspicion that sooner than later his blasé attitude about being effectively paralyzed would wear off.

"For not thinking of this scenario!" Snape yelled, the effect nearly lost as he primly crossed his legs, trying to stop himself from swinging the to and fro.

"But you-"

"I know _I_ didn't! I suppose you think I owe you something," Snape sneered.

"Why would I think that? Not your fault."

Snape merely snorted.

"Well, there _is_ the apprenticeship," Harry answered.

"You're supposed to go outside of Hogwarts for that," Snape answered. "And preferably choose something in law enforcement."

"I thought I was grounded?"

"There are _some_ people that can still be trusted, as much as it revolts my cynical nature to admit it," Snape answered.

"I thought you owed me something?"

"You were supposed to refute that. Besides, extra hours of my company is hardly compensation."

"How about I cripple you and we call it even?" Harry grinned, knowing that it would be even more infuriating than if he's sounded bitter.

"Perhaps I don't feel as guilty as I thought. This could be a blessing in disguise, a just punishment for those theatrics of yours."

"That's the spirit! Can't have you roaming the halls, wailing your contrition. Now help me up. I need to see if I can keep myself vertical and have enough left over to protect myself," Harry answered, trying once again to pull his legs closer and over the edge of the bed.

"If this is just an excuse to have me bouncing off the walls again-"

"Come on, grab my arm, will you?" Harry practical panted, his dizziness from earlier returning. "I'll obviously have to build these arms up if I'm going to get anywhere."

"What, and ruin your girlish figure?" Snape grinned.

"Bastard."

The two spent the next twenty minutes testing Harry's ability to multitask. He was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to chew gum and "walk" at the same time anymore, but he was oddly comforted that his ability to dodge some charms seemed to have improved. Of course, he doubted that Death Eaters would resort to laughing spells and tickling charms like Snape was using, but it amounted to the same thing. Sort of. "Try summoning or banishing something," Snape suggested, satisfied that Harry had perfected the art of levitating himself out of harm's way, at least when it came from a wand hand that wasn't exactly trying to kill him. Harry took Snape's advice and soon the potions master was pinned against the ceiling and on the verge of testing Harry's reflexes with a more painful spell. With the most convincing laugh and apology Harry could manage, he lowered Snape back to the ground and floated himself back to sit on the side of the bed, extremely winded from the effort of doing so.

"Would you like me to leave now?" Snape asked, forgoing his planned tirade in favor of sentimental concern that would be more damaging to the young man's pride.

"Do you think I'll break down and cry when you do?" Harry asked. _Ah, there's the bitterness_.

"I don't know you well enough to answer that."

"I don't think I know myself well enough to answer, either," Harry muttered. But he was betting on "no". As long as he could still fly as a falcon, he'd be fine. If he couldn't…

"I could tell you to look on the bright side but-"

"It would be out of character?" Harry ventured.

"No, I just can't think of a bright side," Snape finished.

"Cheery. Lovely bedside manner. Should have been a midwife, you. And anyway, _I_ can think of some good things. I can hover about, use my super ninja stealth skills to sneak up on people. And I can park in handicap spots. That alone more than makes up for it, don't you think?"

"We can work on a cure," Snape offered lamely. _Now that's out of character_.

"We?"

"Understand that your apprenticeship will begin immediately. If you think I'll leave you to your own devices for the month of December, you're deluding yourself. Who knows what state Hogwarts' ceilings would be in? Or your liver, for that matter, with your penchant for getting drunk with your friends."

"Your concern is touching. You know, this is the most light-hearted conversation we've ever had. That's saying something, isn't it?" Harry asked. 

"It's only light hearted because you're in shock. We'll speak again when you've accepted all that's happened," Snape answered.

"Well, you better go now. I'm going to get my fill of scotch before you suck the fun out of my life."

"I do plan to give you half day on Christmas."

"Bastard."


	11. Friends in Low Places

"Remus, can I have a word?" Harry had just finished breakfast and had rushed to the werewolf's side, gently grabbing his elbow, though he wasn't sure why. "Of course," Lupin answered happily. Then he got glance of the worry in Harry's face. "Come to my office," he added, a sweeping gesture of his hand indicating that Harry should lead the way. Ever since the incident in London, Remus Lupin had been keeping a very close eye on Harry, concerned that the young man was trying his magic too much in his attempt to conceal his paralysis.

"Tea?" he asked, once they were seated at his desk. 

"No, thanks," answered Harry, smiling at the stability a simple offer of tea from Remus Lupin seemed to bring. It was the same thing with Dumbledore and his candy, Ron and his chess, Hermione and her study sessions. Snape and his sarcasm. 

"How's the internship coming along?" Remus asked, guessing that it would be easiest to take the long way to whatever was bothering Harry.

"It's fine. Until last week, we were working together on some defensive potions, healing medicines, things of that sort. But than I melted a cauldron and he banished me to teach his third years and do library research," Harry laughed.

"Really?" Remus asked, eyebrows threatening to break union with his brow. "Severus doesn't trust you with his potions equipment but he _does_ trust you with bumbling _teenagers_?"

"I was surprised too, but I'm glad for it. To tell you the truth, I sabotaged myself."

"Why?"

"It's just that Severus has been harboring a few dozen snakes in his lab for a few weeks, harvesting potion ingredients and testing out that line of anti-venoms he's been working on on the side. I can't stand it," Harry admitted.

"Squeamish?"

"No, they just keeping hissing at me. Say they smell the enemy on me, whatever that means," Harry grumbled. 

Remus wanted to ask more, but sensed how uncomfortable the subject was making Harry and instead asked him how he was enjoying teaching.

"Oh, it's going as well as could be expected. But the doubles with Gryffindor and Slytherin are…exasperating," Harry finished lamely.

"Exasperating?"

"Yes. In that 'pain in the arse' sort of way," Harry grinned.

"Because of the bickering?"

"That, and the stares. The Gryffindors look at me like the lost messiah, and the Slytherins look at me like…I don't know. Dinner maybe."

"Is this what's bothering you?" Remus asked, noticing that Harry had long ago stopped squirming in his seat.

"No, I only wish. No, listen Remus, I haven't mentioned this to anyone yet, and I know I should. I should run straight to Minerva and Severus and even Dumbledore, but I want to know exactly how bad this thing is. It'd make me feel better," Harry said, words spilling out so fast that it made Lupin's heart race just trying to keep up.

"I understand, Harry," he said calmly, despite being overwhelmed by the feeling that whatever Harry was about to say would be something that would inevitably sway the outcome of the war, and not in the direction he would hope.

"Five days ago, I tried to change into a falcon. And it didn't work."

"You couldn't transform?"

"I didn't say that. I transformed all right. Into an owl."

"But that's impossible! Isn't that impossible?"

"Everything I've read would suggest so. Maybe Minerva can tell me otherwise. Maybe I wasn't paying attention and, after all, a bird's a bird. But then the next night, I was a rabbit."

"A rabbit?"

"Then a house cat. Then a goat. Then a horse. Then…"

"Harry, where does this end?"

"Remus, do you know what a Nundu cub looks like?" Harry winced as Remus's teacup fell to the desk, painting a stack of 6th year papers a weak khaki.

"Please tell me you're mistaken," Remus half whispered, half moaned.

"All I know is that I looked like a kitten but was the size of a rhino," Harry answered, unable to keep the escalating panic out of his voice.

"Where were you when this happened?" Remus asked sharply, pushing himself out of his chair so he could direct his nervous energy into pacing.

"Don't worry," Harry answered, "I was in the potions room. That place is warded, sealed airtight. No one's been sick."

"Thank god for that," Remus mumbled, before stopping and staring Harry dead in the eye. "Have you-"

"Yes," Harry interrupted, taking a guess at what the professor was about to ask. "I woke up in bed one night and the sheets were covered with fine white hairs. I think I've been changing in my sleep, without even trying or noticing."

Remus slumped into his chair, and for a moment, Harry hated him for that defeated look in his eyes. They were both silent for a moment, and then, "Dumbledore!" Remus announced rather loudly, standing, grabbing Harry firmly by the upper arm, and dragging the younger man towards the Headmaster's office.

"Remus, what -,"

"I know he's been keeping something to himself about you, Harry. He doesn't agree with the theories Severus and I have come up with concerning the actions of Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair. For days I've seen something brewing in his eyes, and I'm guessing that you're the main ingredient. Circus Peanuts!" he shouted at the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's door. Harry shuddered, remembering the time he had consumed an entire bag of those vile things at a football game. He'd given the poor slob in front of him a dye job resembling Ron Weasley's orange hair, and barely escaped with his balls intact. No, not a good memory.

"Remus, please slow down when you take the turns," Harry panted, his stomach curling in knots from the effort of willing himself to be weightless, from the quick pace his friend was guiding him at, from the tension of the entire situation, and from the phantom memory of way too much sugar.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus answered quietly, feeling adequately chastised for forgetting that Harry wasn't just some…balloon. They had slowed to a reasonable pace by the time they reached Dumbledore's office, and were shocked to find that Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, and Sirius Black (a.k.a. Wynn) were all there, apparently waiting for them.

"Take a seat, Remus, Harry," Dumbledore greeted solemnly.

"I take it you already know?" Remus asked, sitting down next to Wynn, the desire to be close enough to his friend in order to restrain him a rather endearing habit in Harry's eyes.

"Yes, we have wards in the castle that alert us to the presence of creatures with an M.O.M classification above XXXX," Dumbledore answered. Turning to Harry, he asked for details on all of his recent attempts at animagus transformations.

"I've also reason to believe that I've been transforming in my sleep," Harry concluded, after repeating the same story he had given to Remus. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It appears that there was an undetected agent on that blade Macnair got you with," Severus snapped, obviously angry with himself for having failed to seen it. Of course, it would have helped if he had been privy to all the information that Dumbledore had been holding on to.

"Do you know what it is now?" Harry asked.

"Something close to a magical steroid," Snape answered.

"But why," Harry began, only to be silenced by a searching stare from Albus Dumbledore.

"Harry, for reasons of your safety and, in my opinion, your happiness, certain facts about your lineage have been kept from you. I'm afraid it may have done you more harm than good," Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, you are the last living descendant of Godric Gryffindor. Just as Salazar Slytherin passed down a few special gifts to Tom Riddle, so did Godric to you, chiefly a latent ability to shape shift into any other species, magical or no."

"But why would Malfoy and Macnair want to bring that power out?" Minerva asked.

"Do they think it will be beyond his control?" Wynn added.

"It may be possible that Voldemort wanted to make sure that the records are true, for whatever end," Dumbledore answered.

"That would mean there must be a mole somewhat close to the school," Remus sighed, as they were all weary by the constant deceit they encountered almost daily as this war dragged on. "How else would he find out if his theory is correct?"

"He could be expecting us to utilize this new advantage," Minerva answered.

"Well then it was bloody stupid of him to give us such a powerful weapon," Wynn snapped, at least having enough grace to shoot Harry an apologetic smile for the rampant dehumanizing that was taking place in the office.

"And that still doesn't explain why they paralyzed Harry," Remus pointed out.

"You said this was one possibility," Harry broke in, looking at Dumbledore. "What else could this mean?"

"That we have a friend somewhere in low places," Severus answered, shocking most of his audience for being the one to suggest such a hopeful thing. Then the room seemed to explode.

"Lucius Malfoy?!" Minerva shrieked. "If that slimy bastard has switched sides then I'll swallow a bludger!"

"Macnair?" Remus scoffed at the same time. "No one so sadistic would give up all the wonderful opportunities an association with Voldemort would offer."

And Wynn just yelled wordlessly and helplessly, before laughing in the same manner. Harry had to hand it to Severus, he sure knew how to cause a scene.

"Quiet!" Dumbledore broke in, ending the wild gesticulations from that corner of the room. "Severus, will you please explain your theory?"

"First I'll admit to finding it just as far-fetched as you three," Snape began, gesturing to the other staff members. "Only I cannot wrap my mind around Lucius Malfoy acting so carelessly in this matter. Granted, there's not enough evidence to put him into Azkaban, but the publicity alone has led to considerable financial losses in Malfoy's legitimate businesses. Macnair is exactly the type to do something like this and not care about the consequences, as long as he gets some recognition from Voldemort. But the team we have watching the money flow haven't seen any changes in his direction. Besides which, neither Malfoy nor Macnair would have any clue about what to put on that dagger to produce such a reaction. There had to have been someone else involved, and looking at it logically, I doubt it was Voldemort. What does he have to gain from this? He must already be convinced about Harry's heritage. He was sure of it back in '81, and now, with that demonstration of wandless magic in Massachusetts, he must be certain. So why the demonstration? Why help Harry become aware of his gifts, and to make them even stronger? There's no hope in hell of turning Harry, not after paralyzing him. There was no mind-controlling substance on the blade, I've triple-checked this time. There is nothing to suggest that Harry will be unable to control his transformation once he receives some training. So what would Voldemort have to gain by doing this? An even stronger enemy. No, someone must be trying to help us, Albus. I might concede that Lucius went in ill-informed, but I'm willing to bet that the only reason Harry can't walk right now is that who ever was in charge of that poisoned blade wanted to make sure the mission appeared to be a half-triumph so Walden Macnair would be spared, while we are let into the loop."

"Do we know anyone who might be a potions master and a good friend of Macnair or Malfoy?" Remus asked.

"Yes," Severus scowled, obviously finding something distasteful in what he was about to say. "Draco Malfoy."


	12. Mack the Knife, the Malfoy remix

"Malfoy? I thought he was dead!" Remus insisted.

"Yes, he was disappeared after the Hogsmeade attack when he was a student here," answered Minerva. "Granted, we never saw a body, but his parents made sure that there was full news coverage of the funeral."

"Oh, he's not dead," Severus hissed. "Quite a few people in these parts wish he were."

"He's a Death Eater?" Wynn demanded.

"Yes," Dumbledore admitted. 

"But he's Harry's age!" Snape merely raised a practiced eyebrow at Wynn, as if to ask _Are you really _that_ naïve?_ "Well, why hasn't he been added to the lists?"

"Some of us had hopes of turning his misguided heart," Snape sneered, but the only just-perceptible tinge in his cheeks suggested that, at one time, he had been one of those people.

"Be that as it may, have you at least had _someone_ monitoring his activities?" Remus asked.

"Whenever possible," Dumbledore answered. "The young man is supposed to be dead. He's done a very convincing job of it."

"Except when he's _working_," Harry hissed. This was the first time in the past few minutes when he could find his tongue. "You do realize what Draco Malfoy has done, don't you?"

Remus, Severus and Wynn looked confused, but Minerva's face became shuttered and Dumbledore could only nod, head heavy with the solemnity in the room. 

"What is he talking about?" Severus snapped, unused to being out of the loop when it came to his Slytherins.

"The attack on Miss Granger the summer before he seventh year," Dumbledore answered.

"That was-" Severus had to stop himself for a moment. Children. They were only children. "Why was I not told?" he demanded, his voice quiet but anything but soft.

"As he left no physical evidence on Miss Granger's person, she agreed not to make his involvement a matter of public record. I didn't want it clouding your judgement," Dumbledore answered.

"Clouding my-"

"There was certain evidence that the boy was…unwilling."

"What-"

"The bastard couldn't get it up," Harry snarled. "Not at first at any rate. And while he waited he found other ways of _amusing_ himself." Harry couldn't think about it anymore. Hermione was now one of the closest friends he had, and just thinking about her lying there and crying and bleeding and…it was making him sick.

"May I finish a sentence now?" Snape asked, choosing annoyance over disgust.

"By all means, Severus," Dumbledore answered.

"For the moment, we have to put aside the…monstrosity that was Draco Malfoy years ago. At this moment, he may be trying to tell us something. And he _is_ the only Potions expert that would have had the opportunity to become involved in this incident. All of Voldemort's top potion masters are currently trying to create a synthetic version of the Elixir of Life, fruitless as it will inevitably be. There is simply no way without the use of unicorn blood and Voldemort is set against it."

"Why don't we just capture Draco the next chance we get?" Minerva asked.

"It wouldn't work," Harry answered. "We wouldn't be able to release him. Voldemort would kill him for sure."

"Mr. Potter's right," Severus answered. "His absence would not go unnoticed and it is policy to execute possible traitors, no matter their worth."

"But you're here," Wynn pointed out.

"I didn't say it was a terribly _old_ policy," Severus sighed.

"Well, why would he want to go back anyway, if he is responsible for this?" Wynn asked.

"Maybe he wants to be a spy," Minerva offered.

"It's a possibility," Severus answered. "Whatever his motives, I'm fairly sure that he is not prepared to abandon the old way of life, else he would have come out openly for our side. In Draco Malfoy's case, arrogance is a decent enough substitute for bravery. He wouldn't thumb his nose at his father unless he had a substantial audience."

"So, basically, there's nothing we can do but wait?" Harry asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the aggravation from his voice. He'd be damned if he was going to put his life in the hands of someone like Draco Malfoy.

"The first move is his, Harry," Severus answered. "This may be a one time gift. Or it may be all conjecture on our parts. There's no proof of anything."

"In the meantime, what do we do about harry?" Remus asked. "I shudder to think about what could happen if he spontaneously transforms into a dragon in the middle of the Great Hall."

"Wynn, will you please work with him?" Dumbledore asked. Severus did nothing to hide his doubt in the groundskeeper's ability, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Of course," Wynn answered, scowling at Snape before smiling at Harry. "It should only be a matter of control, nothing too difficult."

"Where do we stand on the elder Malfoy's reason for attacking Harry?" Remus asked. "I have to believe that neither he nor Macnair had any intention of being the catalyst for Harry's gift. But I also agree with Severus's assessment of Malfoy's intelligence. He would not be so foolhardy without some very strong incentives. What was he doing in that pub?"

"Maybe his son convinced him that the poison he was lacing the blade with would be enough to kill Harry," Dumbledore suggested. "Draco would be in for a painful reprimand against failure, but the fact that Harry has been paralyzed will be enough to save him from death at the hands of his master."

"Too bad," Harry muttered beneath his breath.

"I suggest we adjourn for lunch," Dumbledore smiled, choosing to ignore Harry's whispered comment.

"That's it?" Harry asked, incredulous. 

"What were you expecting?" Minerva asked.

"Probably a grand plan involving turning into a ferocious monster of some kind and eating Voldemort alive," Severus half-smiled. "And he would have a near to valid point, Headmaster. Plans should be-"

"Put off for another day," Dumbledore finished for him. "At least until Harry gains more control over this new talent. Then, perhaps, we can entertain suggestions."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Harry asked. "I can't teach any more of Professor Snape's classes, not when there's the risk of transforming into something dangerous, and I refuse to go back into his labs until those snakes are out, and I can't go to town to buy Christmas presents, and finally I think I'm going stir crazy!" Harry finished rather melodramatically. It felt good, he decided. Everyone needs a decent rant now and then.

"What's wrong with snakes?" Minerva asked.

"They talk to much," Harry grumbled, trying to ignore the small sounds of laughter coming from his godfather and friend.

"I'm sure Wynn will assign you some involving readings concerning extinct and deadly magical creatures," Remus grinned.

"Oh I couldn't be more delighted," Harry groaned, reveling in his allowed immaturity.

"I'd offer to run your errands at Hogsmeade, but I'm under house arrest as well," Severus smirked.

"Min, can I count on you to come to my rescue?" Harry asked, turning on all of his charm.

"Of course not, not if you insist on calling me that," Minerva half-heartedly snapped. 

"Don't worry, Harry," Wynn answered. "Most of the stores will send out owl orders and catalogs if you request them."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands lightly as he stood to usher everyone out to the Great Hall. "As for your cabin fever, Harry, most of the students are going to be leaving at the end of the week for Christmas holidays. Perhaps then a pickup game of Quidditch might be arranged? In the meantime, I'm sure Professor Snape will be happy to relocate his snakes."

"Absolutely thrilled," Severus answered, but by the morning he had done so, and Harry had begun counting down the days until he could play in a full game of Quidditch.


	13. Pissing in the Wind

****

A/N: God, I'm so sorry. I know I'm being just awful about updating. My life falling apart at the seams should be no excuse, damnit! Ok, I'' trying for levity here. I've just been really busy (blame it on Moby Dick if you want…BTW, I'm a lit major, so that wasn't some metaphor for my personal life) and a little bit blocked. But it's possible that I may have written a chapter and forgot to post it, or Ffnet was down at the time or something…in which case this will be the second of 2 chps. Posted tonight, and then, well, aren't I just the coolest?! No? Fine, be that way. Sincerely though, thank you all for reviewing and hopefully sticking with me here. If it makes you feel any better, you faithful readers are not the only people I screw over with my procrastination. I do it to myself ALL the time. So let's collectively wave byebye to grad school for me J Put a lot of feeling into it, why don't you? Trust me, it'll help. And now, a brief interlude of comic relief and the oh so popular Harry/Severus banter that you seem to enjoy.

The young setter padded quietly through the forest, eyes fastened on the black robes twenty paces ahead. "Finally," the man in black muttered, stopping and hunching over to harvest small violet berries from a sprawling vine wrapped loosely about the tree in front of him. The setter crouched down close to the ground, easing his way silently towards the man until finally…

"BARK!"

Severus Snape twirled around, wand drawn and face blank, though an astute observer might have seen the pulse rapidly pounding against the sweat-dampened skin of his neck. "Stupid animal," he nearly growled, lowering his wand but not holstering it. "Don't you know that there are plenty of things in this forest that would consider you nothing more than a less than filling hors d'oeuvre?"

The dog merely cocked his head, wagging his tail slowly to show that he was not dangerous but taking a slight step back to show he was not stupid either. Snape finally put away his wand. The setter, feet still planted firmly on the ground, then leaned forward as far as he could, nose pointing at Snape's curled fist. Sighing, the Potions master transferred the berries into the pocket of the vest he was wearing beneath his robes and extended his empty hand cautiously, palm up, grimacing as he was greeted with all the mucus the mutt could muster.

"Charming," he muttered, whispering a cleansing spell before returning his attention to his work, trying to ignore the dog which was practically prancing for attention at his feet. "Go away before I _neuter_ you," Snape snapped. The dog continued sniffing at the hems of the man's robes and, to Snape's utter horror, slowly lifted one of his hind legs. Snape leaped back with a strangled yelp, foot cocked back as if he were ready and more than willing to kick the offending creature when…

"Potter?!"

Harry materialized before him, laughing so hard that he didn't bother to resume the proper position of a biped. "You should have seen your face!" he crowed, fighting for breath through his merry sobs. "Priceless!"

Severus just scowled. Noticing the less-than-amused look on the older man's face, Harry calmed himself, offering a not-so-apologetic smile. "Remus had suggested that I, um…seduce your leg, but Wynn couldn't stomach it," he grinned.

"I might have known those hooligans were involved," Snape muttered. "Surprised they aren't hanging from the trees to witness this."

"They've left Hogwarts on Dumbledore's business," Harry shrugged.

"Does that man realize it's Christmas Eve?" Severus asked. 

"You're one to talk," Harry mock-scolded. "You're out here in the middle of the night, picking _berries_. You know that Santa will pass you over if you aren't in bed, don't you?"

"Who?" Severus asked.

"Never mind," Harry sighed. "They'll be back in the morning."

"I trust that your owl orders came in?" Severus inquired, concluding his business with the Brandyskein vine and following Harry back to the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Would you like to join me for a drink?"

"Is that a not-so-subtle way of asking me if you can indulge in some of my vintage whiskey?" Severus smirked.

"Hey, you're welcome to come to _my_ room. Gryffindor colors, bottle of cheap vodka, couple of bags of crisps-"

"That's enough," Severus shuddered. "Consider my tastes duly offended. The dungeons it will be."

"No, let's go to the kitchens for something warm first," Harry replied, noticing that what once was numbness in his toes was no evolving into a slow and painful burn.

"Are you missing Christmas at home?" Severus asked, allowing their walk to be led in the direction of the kitchen.

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted. "Christmas at the university, that is. I don't miss _anything_ about the Dursleys. But in the dorms, we used to have secret Santa, and the girls that stayed over hols would always try to cook a turkey and fail miserably, forcing us into whatever restaurant was open. And the lads would have drinking contests with spiked egg nog." Harry laughed at the phantom nausea. "You can imagine how _that_ turned out."

Severus nodded in all the right places, even though he had no concept of this elusive "Secret Santa" of which Harry spoke. But he could sympathize with the young man. Severus had often missed the Christmases of his childhood, several generations of his family squeezed in front of the hearth, cheeks and hands burning from the fire while the rest of them slowly froze. The family room was all aglow from multicolored illuminated crystals enchanted to fly in lazy circles overhead. The smell of his Great Aunt's bread and butter pudding filled the air, and there were never any fights on Christmas day. Ever.

"Severus?" Harry asked, concerned at the far-off look in his mentor's eyes.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Severus asked, shaking his head free from those pesky lingering sentimentalities. 

"We're getting a game together," Harry grinned. "Wynn and Remus are joining, as well as some of the seventh-years that are still around. Crane, Blake, Allen. How many players do we need to do a decent job of it?"

"You're fishing for something," Severus sighed. "I know bloody well that you've memorized that damned book."

"Fine, you'll say no anyway," Harry sighed, not bothering to whine or pull his wounded lamb face. Severus was immune to it. Or rather, it only bolstered a sense of malicious pride.

"Most assuredly. Imagine, me, playing _Quidditch_."

"I said forget it," Harry snapped. "Look, will you at least come outside and watch? You can feel free to laugh and everything, but I don't like the idea of you sitting alone, inside, on Christmas."

"Alone? Why would I be alone? Minnie and I are-"

"I didn't realize," Harry interrupted, blushing furiously at the idea of the Transfiguration professor, doing…

"Calm yourself Potter and consider yourself paid back in turn," Severus grinned.

"Oh ha ha," Harry smirked, before letting slip a genuine laugh. "Honestly, that was just disturbing. Thank you for not going with Trelawney though. So will you come out?"

"Why so concerned?" Severus asked, standing to give Harry the cue that it was high time to get inebriated.

"Because you're my friend," Harry answered, waving goodbye to the house elves, hoping that they would enjoy the small trinkets he had bought them for the holiday.

"Well, I may stop by, if only to see _certain_ people humiliate themselves in front of the students," Severus answered. By then, the pair had reached his quarters. "Your training seems to be coming along very well," he observed. "Can you control yourself in anything larger than a dog?"

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd find it at all amusing if I had appeared as a dragon," Harry smiled.

"I might have. I'm out of dragon's blood," Severus answered, his brows knitted comically tight.

"Well, the answer is yes just the same. I actually _did_ manage a dragon this morning, so the magical creatures are coming along well. When do you think Dumbledore will consider it?"

"Using you as a weapon you mean?" Severus asked, handing Harry a glass of Scotch that he had been meaning to show him.

"Yes…damn! Oh, that burns!" Harry wheezed, having downed his shot without noticing the switch from the normally smooth whiskey that he had come to tolerate. "Oooh, keep it coming," he smiled with watery eyes.

"It's a miracle you aren't a complete drunk," Severus sighed, filling the young man's glass nonetheless. 

"Well, that's the joy of the sobering charm," Harry answered. "Don't worry, I'm to filled with self-love to send my liver to hell. Now seriously, have you spoken to Dumbledore about any possible plans?"

"He won't hear of it until your apprenticeship is over," Severus sighed.

"But that's months away!" Harry yelled.

"And let's hope he finds no reason to change his mind," Severus murmured. "But I'm afraid that you'll be called into action shortly after the New Year. There are some…complications that you are unaware of, and I'm under strict orders not to mention anything until after the holiday."

"Well now you've mentioned it, so you may as well come out with it," Harry urged.

"No, it won't do you any good. Enjoy your Christmas and know that we definitely won't make a move until mid-January, at the earliest."

"Nice, real nice," Harry complained, but he dropped the matter soon enough, as the clock in Severus's sitting room struck twelve. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Soon after, Harry was back in his bed, trying to dream of sugar plums but failing miserably. 


	14. Have you seen my spine?

**A/N: Hello everybody. Sorry this took so long, but I had a death in the family, and that, on top of struggling through finals and term papers, pretty well knocked me out. But I'm graduating from college in a few days, so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently, for those of you who haven't jumped ship. I don't expect this fic to go on much longer than a few more installments, but nevertheless, you have my word that I'll actually finish it soon. Anyhoo, enjoy.**

"Oh holy hell," Harry growled, pulling up tight on his broom to avoid a bludger that had his name written all over it.

"Sorry, Harry," Wynn shouted as he flew past, though the grin on his face made him look anything but sincere. "I really wasn't aiming for your head, you know."

"I find that bloody unlikely," Harry muttered, regaining his balance in time to witness his teammate Blake, a Ravenclaw seventh year, get a goal past Johnson, the opposing Keeper. It was Christmas morning and Harry and Wynn had rounded up six other players for a pickup game of Quidditch. Wynn's team was filled out with Johnson, Crane and Allen, both seventh year Hufflepuffs. Harry was a chaser along with Blake, while Remus was the Beater and a sixth year named Grant struggled in the Keeper position. So far, they had been playing for nearly an hour, having set a ridiculously high match point of 200. With Blake's goal, it now stood at 180 to 160 in Harry's favor, but oddly enough it was Remus's doing that they were so far ahead. The man had a deadly aim with the Bludger.

"Heads up, Harry," Blake called, tossing the Quaffle across the pitch and over the heads of Crane and Allen. Harry caught the ball and took off for the goal post, pinning his body close to the handle of his broom to increase his speed. A quick and cold whistle of air against his right ear let him know that his head had nearly been taken off by Wynn's bludger. He dimly heard Remus shout, "Son of a…", just as he dimly heard the cheers from the crowd below. Dumbledore, Minnie, Pomfrey, and some of the students had come out to watch, not to mention the little dark cloud that is Severus Snape, hovering in front of the stands. Harry pulled left to avoid the Bludger that had come back for another shot and sped on to the goal post, stopping up short in front of Johnson and tossing the Quaffle through the hoop.

"Good shot, Harry!" Remus called, before thumbing his nose at Wynn, who was still grinning like a maniac, full of pride for his godson.

Johnson caught the Quaffle and hurled it to Crane, who then proceeded to toss it down the pitch with Allen. Harry chased after them and watched to his horror as Blake tried to intercept the Quaffle only to be hit in the arm with the Bludger. Wynn hadn't been putting much force behind his hits, but the impact was strong enough to loosen Blake's hold on his broom and he fell from his broom, nearly sixty feet above ground. Harry was sure that Remus, as well as the professors on the ground, all had their wands out in seconds to slow Blake's fall, but Harry still sped towards the boy, stretching his arms out and grabbing Blake around the waist. A great rush of breath from the Ravenclaw let Harry know that he was fine, just winded, and Harry quickly descended to the ground, gently let Blake go, and was back in the air in the blink of an eye, racing towards Crane and Allen, who were volleying the Quaffle towards the goal, having only paused the play long enough to make sure Blake wasn't injured.

Seeing that Harry was back in the game, Remus aimed a Bludger at the Quaffle rather than the Chasers, hoping to upset their rhythm and give Harry the chance to catch up. His tactic worked, and the Quaffle went careening off in Harry's direction. Crane dove to recover the ball, but he was impeded by Allen, who had decided on the same course. The two Chasers had to swerve to avoid collision, and the extra time allowed Harry to catch the Quaffle and turn around to fly towards his goal post. Looking behind him, he saw that Remus was keeping Wynn busy by returning the Bludger each time Wynn hit it. The field was clear for Harry and within moments he had scored the game goal.

"You would think you'd let an old man win for Christmas," Wynn laughed when all of the players had landed.

"I think he did," Remus grinned, gesturing towards the stands, where Dumbledore seemed to be collecting on a wager. "You were wonderful, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry smiled, still breathless from the game. "You alright there, Blake?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine thanks," the Ravenclaw smiled.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate," Wynn grinned apologetically. 

"Don't worry," Blake shrugged. "My fault for not hanging on. Meanwhile, I'm _freezing_. I'm going inside to open my presents. See you later in the Great Hall," he said, waving goodbye and turning towards the castle. The other student players followed his example, but Harry went with Remus and Wynn to the stands, where Dumbledore and Severus were still waiting.

"Good game, boys," Dumbledore beamed. "Won myself five knuts from Madam Pomfrey, who was sure that young Harry here would do himself a harm."

"You bet on _that_?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"I was given good odds," Dumbledore smiled. 

"Which would be reasonable, considering your…limitations," Severus added, giving Harry a searching look. "Of course, I doubt that any of us realized that you've found a way around them."

"What's he talking about, Harry?" Wynn asked.

"Yes, what are you talking about Severus?" Harry asked, deciding to let Severus show his cards first.

"Only that you used your _thighs_ to hold on to that broom when you caught Blake," Severus answered. 

"Well, go ahead and spoil the surprise," Harry sighed melodramatically. "Merry Christmas everybody," he added, making a show of lifting his foot, swiveling it at the ankle, and placing a none-too-gentle kick against Severus's shin.

"Merlin, Potter, act your age," Severus scowled.

"Oh, you know you liked it," Harry grinned.

"Harry, what does this mean?" Wynn asked, trying not to laugh as Snape bent to brush the snow from his robes.

"How is it possible?" Remus asked, looking closely at the way Harry was holding himself. He wasn't just floating there like a ghost. He was actually _standing_.

"Let me show you something," Harry said, holding out his hand. The three men watched as Harry closed his eyes, stretched his fingers, and then – 

"Harry! Your hand!" Wynn gasped. In truth, they were no longer even looking at a hand. They were looking at a wing.

"You've learned how to localize your transformations?" Albus asked, his eyes shining brightly as he looked at the wing.

In answer, Harry changed his wing to a reptilian claw, the long grasped arm of a Grindylow, the paw of a basset hound, and the flipper of a narwhale.

"But-" Wynn began. Before being silenced by a look from Harry.

"Watch," Harry said, and they all looked on as Harry turned his arm human again. "Look familiar?" he asked. Dumbledore was laughing, Remus and Wynn were looking sorely confused, and Severus was just…looking.

"Your arm, it's darker then the other," Severus mused aloud. "This hand is rougher, like it works out…" and then he understood. As did Wynn.

"That's my arm!" he squawked.

"Don't sound so concerned," Severus said. "You still have your own."

"But, human?" Remus asked. "I didn't think it was possible."

"The vanity of man," Severus snorted. "Thinking we're somehow above the beasts."

"Why Severus, I didn't know you cared," Remus teased.

"So what, you're using someone else's legs?" Wynn asked.

"No, someone else's spinal cord," Harry corrected.

"How long can you sustain it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I've been working at it for a few days now. The longest period I've gone so far is six hours, but I didn't have to stop. It's much less draining than levitation."

"Harry," Remus began, but Harry anticipated his question and in seconds, Remus was staring at a mirror image of himself.

"Oh my god," Wynn whispered. Then shouted when Harry transfigured himself into Severus Snape and made to hug his godfather. The real Severus Snape did something just as shocking then. Laughing.

"Harry, I think you're doing injury to Wynn's heart," Remus grinned, so Harry transformed back into himself, but kept his hold on his godfather.

"This is the best Christmas present ever," Wynn beamed.

"I agree," Dumbledore added, smiling but his eyes were distant, calculating.

"Headmaster-" Severus began, his voice carrying an unspoken warning. 

"No, of course you're right, Severus. Why don't we all go inside, open presents?" Albus smiled. "It's beginning to snow again."

So the four men all started for the castle, Harry and Wynn throwing the occasional snowball at each other, and then at Remus, as Severus and Albus had a whispered conversation.

"What are you planning, Albus?" Severus asked.

"I have no plans as of yet, Severus. You know how I feel about sending Harry to Voldemort unprepared."

"I understand that, Headmaster. But I also understand the way you were looking at him just now. He has the ability to turn into another _person_, Albus. He can become you. He can become Voldemort, for Merlin's sake! He's not as ill-prepared as we thought yesterday, and I know that you're thinking about how best to use him. Now, with the news from the front…" Severus trailed off then, watching as the others entered the main hall.

"I know. With the Death Eaters slowly abandoning their now mortal lord, this could be our chance. The war could be over within the month," Dumbledore continued.

"Yes. It could very well be. Don't you think we can find another way? And not send Harry into this mess after all?" Severus asked.

"You've really come to care for him, haven't you?" Dumbledore smiled.

"He's my student," Severus answered defensively. "No, he's my friend. Albus, he gave me a Christmas present," he whispered in a pained voice.

"Well, don't let it ruin your holiday," Dumbledore chuckled. "What was it?"

"A very nice bottle of wine, and…what did he call it? A Tea Shirt," Severus answered. "Grand gestures all in all, but I am serious about what I say. Sentimentality aside, if we send him off to war and he should fail, I'm afraid that the tide will turn."

"I knew there had to be a practical side to your argument," Dumbledore laughed. "Very well, Severus. I give you my word not to involve Harry in the war unless it becomes absolutely necessary to do so."

Severus didn't seem too happy with that, but he let the discussion drop as he joined the others in the Great Hall for a late breakfast. The remaining students were scattered about, playing with new sets of Gobstones and wizard chess, showing off fresh robes and passing about candy that would spoil breakfast and the feast planned for that evening. Over at the Gryffindor table, Remus was thumbing through a book on Roman mythology that Harry had ordered for him, while Wynn was tinkering with one of the presents he had received from students, a yo-yo. Harry laughed as his godfather made a mess of it and, seeing Severus at the doorway, waved the Potions master over. After a moment of internal debate, Severus joined Harry at his table, swallowing his shock when Wynn moved over to make room for him. As Harry looked about the great hall, at the kids playing around with genuine smiles, at Dumbledore blushing upon receiving socks and a peck on the cheek from Minnie, at Remus laughing as he tried to untie the knots that had ensnared Wynn's fingers, at Severus asking politely to look at Remus's book, Harry was sure that this was the best Christmas he had ever had.


	15. and a happy new year

**A/N: Right, one more after this and it's over! Hopefully you won't find it too rushed, but all tedious things must come to an end. Oh, there's some innuendo in this chapter, take it as you will. I confess I'm a HP/SS fan, but anything explicit seems inappropriate in this fic. So enjoy this one kiddies!**

The morning after Christmas found Harry Potter knocking down the door to Severus Snape's quarters.

"Severus, are you…are those _cauldrons_ on your pants?!" Harry asked, finding the Potions master lounging in his sitting room, going through scrolls with blurred morning eyes.

"I make it a point to make use of the monstrosities that are the Headmaster's Christmas gifts at least once before tossing them in the fire," Severus answered, gesturing Harry towards a seat and the pot of tea waiting before it. "Now, I assume that you did not barge in here to discuss my night clothes? What is it you wanted from me?"

"I want to know what's going on," Harry answered as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"I don't suppose that you could be more specific," Severus answered, setting aside student essays. 

"What are the complications that you mentioned? What is the importance of mid-January?"

"No importance, now," Severus smiled. "I've procured Dumbledore's promise that you will not be involved."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that, save gulp in air with a hiss and hope that he would taste the appropriate emotion on his lips. But all he found was righteous indignation. And anger.

"You had no right," he growled, holding back the childish whine that was begging to be released, a cry reminiscent of a babe stripped of his favorite toy. "I'm not some weakling," he ranted. "You have no right to shelter me like this! Why the...why am I _here_ even if not to end this fucking war for you? Why did I give up _my life_?" Even as he said it, Harry knew he was lying to himself. His sacrifice of a life in America, of good friends and a college education, was not as great, in terms of happiness, as he would have thought. And although he was willing to fight Voldemort, and give more than his mobility to the cause, he had no wish to become a martyr, and no delusion that he was indispensable. He _knew_.

"Are you quite finished?" Severus asked, and Harry was grateful that his friend had spared him this once.

"Yes. Sorry."

"There's no need," Severus shrugged. 

"Will you at least tell me what's changed?" Harry asked. Earlier that week, it had sounded as if plans had been considered that involved Harry, and now he was next to useless.

"You've proven yourself too powerful to go to war," Severus smirked.

"I don't understand," Harry frowned. "Isn't being more powerful a _good_ thing, at least in this case?"

"No. Allow me to give you the details and then we shall see what your opinion is concerning your involvement in this fight. Recently, nearly a hundred of Voldemort's supporters have defected. They have thrown themselves on the mercy of the Ministry, rather than sink with their ship like the vermin they undoubtedly are. Some of the ranked Death Eaters remain loyal of course, but Voldemort's dark army is breaking apart. Now what do you think that would drive him to?" 

"Desperation. He'd be more than willing to settle for unicorn's blood, no matter what it means to his strength and what's left of his life and soul," Harry answered. "He'd never surrender. He's been driven into a corner."

"Yes," Severus agreed.

"So I was to finish him off? In mid-January…because the least harmful and most potent of the synthetic elixirs would take that long to brew?"

"Very good, Mr. Potter. And how would you have found him?" Snape asked, comfortable in his role as an educator, hoping to regain his dignity as he sat in bootie pajamas.

"The unicorn reserve," Harry whispered. "After you recovered the Sorcerer's Stone, the Ministry relocated all of the unicorns from the Forbidden Forest to the reserve in Snowdon. It would be the easiest place for Voldemort to breach. I'd have transformed into a unicorn."

"Yes."

"And why can't I now?" Harry asked.

"Because," Severus scowled. "There was always a level of risk to you when we thought this route was a possibility. Even with the revelation of your true power, that risk does not go away. If you were to be captured, the war will be over."

"You think he could break me that easily?" Harry asked quietly. "Don't say you don't know me well enough to answer that. You know me as well as I know myself. Do you think me that weak?"

"It's not a question of weakness!" Severus snapped. "It's about what I am willing to lose!"

"Severus-"

"Never mind, Harry," Severus sighed. "Leave it be. There are other ways to end this war and Dumbledore has agreed to consider them."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, though he was forming an answer for himself.

"You tell me," Severus smiled. "At lunch, where I shall be dressed in something more surly…and black. And I'm sure that you can use these few hours to work out the weaknesses in whatever plan you are currently concocting in that war-mongering head of yours." 

Harry made his way to the Potions lab after his conversation with Severus. He needed to make a Pensieve. 

@@@

"What do the house elves do with the leftovers?" Harry asked, as he passed the breadbasket to Remus. He, Wynn, Remus, and Severus were gathered for lunch in Dumbledore's office, leaving Minerva to supervise the students eating in the Great Hall.

"Until your friend Ronald Weasley finished his education at this school, I don't believe there _were_ any," Dumbledore smiled.

"I believe the head elf has some remarkable effective preservation spells," Remus answered. "My friends and I had a very hard time trying to break them on the occasions when we actually _stole_ food from the kitchens in our youth," he continued, grinning at Wynn. "Most of the time, the elves were more than willing to part with more than a healthy portion."

"As pleasant as this stroll down memory lane is, I'm eager to here what young Harry has to say," Dumbledore said.

"As am I," Severus added, casting a sidelong glance at the package Harry had brought with him.

Harry noticed and opened the box, putting the Pensieve on the table. "Severus, would you mind if I picked your brain?"

@@@

It was nearing midnight on New Year's Day, and a strength of six dozen Aurors, as well as a handful of apprentices, including Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were hidden in the shadows surrounding the church just beyond Upper Slaughter's borders, freezing their arses off. The waxing moon was shining down on them, the glow from the snow and puffs of condensed breath illuminating the sky, but the most prominent light was the green flame surrounding Voldemort's hands as he stood, only 50 meters away. He was chanting lowly, hissing really, and some of the Aurors who had met the "man" in battle once before were itching to start hexing. Fortunately, they had wills strong enough to withstand the wait, for they were all under the strictest orders, the most bewildering orders they'd ever received. "Capture all Death Eaters, but Voldemort is not to be touched."

Suddenly, the air was filled with a rapid series of pops, nearly a hundred apparations. There was a slow movement towards Voldemort, a black, murmuring wave as his Death Eaters became suppliant and cooed humble greetings at their lord's feet.

"Welcome, my loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort said, not having to shout above the reverent silence. Then he raised his wand, and Ron, watching from the bushes, could see the barest of flinches tremble through the crowd. But no one would run. "Vincio!" Voldemort shouted, as a pure blue light poured forth into the sky, spread like water through the air, and settled around the congregation of Death Eaters, binding them.

"Now!" came a shout from the shadows, as Remus Lupin led the Aurors forth. The Death Eaters could do nothing. Ron was allowed to make his first capture as a trainee, pulling at the elbow of one of the masked men. The binding spell clung to him as it unwove from the larger net. Ron and the Auror who was supervising him led the Death Eater away from the group and stunned him. Hermione was occupied elsewhere, staring at the unapologetic eyes of Draco Malfoy, who continued to sneer even as he was stunned like the rest of the Death Eaters. Meanwhile, no less than ten wands were pointed at Voldemort at all times, though it was hardly necessary. He just stood back and surveyed the scene, an easy smile on his face.

Within half an hour, the last Death Eaters in Britain were in the custody of the Ministry. The Aurors and apprentices had accompanied their prisoners to the various holding cells throughout the country, a team of Obliviators was making a sweep of the area for any Muggle witnesses, and Remus Lupin stood alone, with Voldemort.

"You can change back now, Harry," Remus grinned.

"No," Harry answered, pointing to a pair of eyes glowing in the distance. The snake turned and slithered away. "He's watching."

"I know," Remus sighed. "He always is. Change back." Harry did, relieved to be out of that stifling skin.

"Do you think he suspected?" Harry asked. There was always a chance of corruption rearing its head in massive missions conducted through Ministry channels, which was the main reason that the Aurors had not been informed of the ruse. 

"He may have," Remus answered. "But he would never have warned his followers, even if he had been sure this was a trap."

"It would be admitting to great a weakness," Harry agreed. "Now what?"

"Now, we go home," Remus answered. "We'll leave Voldemort until the sun rises."

It was almost two in the morning when they returned to Hogwarts, but Dumbledore, Wynn, Minnie and Severus were waiting for them, and no doubt the other trainees were sitting up in the graduate wing, waiting to hear from Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"It went well?" Wynn asked, giving Harry a tight squeeze at the shoulder. They had all been worried for Harry, not because of the Death Eaters, but because of the temptation he provided for Aurors with something to prove or someone to avenge.

"Ninety-six in custody," Remus grinned. "Harry's binding spell was brilliant."

"Excellent," Dumbledore beamed. "Well done, both of you."

"Yes," Severus whispered. "Well done." Harry caught Severus's eye, and made his excuses. Wynn and the rest accepted that he was tired, and Harry headed towards his room, wishing to speak to Hermione. He found her there after he waded through the questions of the other trainees, who knew that Harry had been involved in the night's mission but were confused by Ron's testimony that he had not seen Harry all night. Harry told them that he'd explain later, when he could, and pressed on to his room, knowing that Hermione would be there, sitting calmly on his mattress, waiting to break down.

"How are you?" he asked. It was as far as he got before the tears started to flow.

"He didn't say anything to me," she breathed into Harry's chest, after she had collected herself. He didn't let her go. "He acted like I was dead, as if he had killed me that night."

"He didn't," Harry whispered. "You're here."

"I know."

"You're here."

"I'm here," she said, pulling away and giving Harry as big a smile as she could genuinely manage. "Oh, I have news for you!"

"Classified news?" Harry grinned.

"Of course, but you deserve it," she winked. Of course she knew. She knew what Harry had been that night.

"Do tell," Harry laughed.

"Malfoy confessed to making the poison for his father."

"Really?" Harry asked. Either some serious truth serum had been involved, or Malfoy was fishing for a deal. "Did he say what the mission was?"

"To lure you. That's all he said, to lure you," she answered. Or rather, yawned.

"Well, to bed with you, young lady," Harry smiled. 

"You too, young man," she answered, standing to go. "And unicorns."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked.

"He said unicorns," she repeated. "Do you know what he meant?"

"Maybe. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."

@@@

"Severus?" Harry asked. "Are you decent?"

"Never," Severus answered, ushering Harry into his rooms. "How is Miss Granger?"

"You heard, huh?" Harry asked, taking the offered glass of whiskey. "She's fine. She had some interesting news though."

"Yes?"

"Malfoy was under orders to poison me, to unlock my power."

"He said as much?" Severus asked, sitting up in his chair.

"He said he was to lure me. And he said 'Unicorns'," Harry answered. "Great minds think alike?"

"Apparently," Severus answered, repressing a shudder at would might have been.

"How are you?" Harry asked.

"Why do you ask?" Severus answered, wariness abundantly clear.

"You…" but Harry didn't know what to say. "It's fortunate that you had such detailed knowledge of Voldemort's form," he continued, wishing this conversation wasn't necessary. "Ninety-six Death Eaters, in one night. Fortunate."

"That's one way of looking at it," Severus smiled ruefully. 

"I won't tell anyone," Harry whispered. He wanted to beg Severus to erase the memory. He didn't want to close his eyes and see that scene from the Pensieve, the moment that gave Severus such intimate knowledge of Voldemort's flesh, of the spot on his chest that allowed the Dark Lord to call his Death Eaters. But this understanding of the man was a gift, and he could not give it back. Ever.

"I know, Harry," Severus answered. "But everyone I care about knows already."

"Then thank you for telling me."

"You should go, get some sleep."

"I could stay," Harry answered. "For a drink. Another drink."

"Then stop hovering about near the door," Severus smiled. "Sit down. Maybe we can come up with a plan for tomorrow."


	16. and in the end

By the following morning, the whole thing was over. The fear, the bloodshed, the war. Everything over, in the blink of an eye. The shrug of a shoulder. As quiet and subdued as that. For months afterwards, veterans of the war would laugh bitterly about it. All that heartache, only for the bastard to simply give up in the end. Only for a few months did some of the most jaded warriors feel as if some grand demonstration of ultra-violence, some Last Stand, some hard-won final battle, would have made more sense. Would have made it almost _worth_ thousands upon thousands of death. But then these fighters, these casualties, these mourners, began to heal, and to rejoice that Tom Riddle had gone quietly. Because, in the end, Voldemort had burned himself into ash, smoldering with all of the failures, all of the hate, that had turned the soul of an orphaned, abandoned boy into that of a genocidal, power-obsessed, xenophobic, pathetic creature. 

When the inhabitants of Hogwarts awoke to the news, they were shocked. Jubilant, some, but the staff and most of the auror trainees were cautious with their hope. The fear was in the air that Voldemort had done nothing more than a dramatic, and rather convincing, disappearing act. That he had become transient, a spirit weakened but able, at a later date, to reclaim a body, and there he would arise again, incarnate and more pissed off than ever. Just like the last time. Perhaps that was what the dark lord had intended, but then their fears were eased when Ron pointed to Harry. The scar that he had born since he was a child was gone. It, along with Severus Snape's dark mark, had faded along with Voldemort. It was truly over.

"A bit anticlimactic, wasn't it?" Remus mused, as he, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Severus, and Harry sat around the fire in Hagrid's Hut that night, all intending to celebrate this night with sobriety. Their cups for once were filled with teas, coffees, or cocoas, according to taste. They wanted to remember every moment of this happiness, this blessed relief.

"In the best of ways," Severus answered. 

"And the most unbelievable," Hermione answered. Harry looked closely at her. She had more than happiness in her eyes. Beneath it all was a pain a few years old, at last letting itself be shown. Dumbledore had told them all that afternoon that those Death Eaters that had confessed under Veritaserum to having killed, tortured, raped, or kidnapped under the orders of Tom Riddle were to be given life sentences in the new magical incarceration center Carceris. There, they would be subdued by potions, rather than Dementors. Dumbledore also announced the likelihood of Sirius Black being exonerated, with the confession of Peter Pettigrew securing him an audience with the Department of Justice in the first week of February. Hermione was right. It was all unbelievable.

"You'd think that Voldemort would have kept fighting until the end," Ron agreed. "He didn't even do his pyrotechnic show in some high-profile locale, like Diagon Alley. The most monumental spectacle in the past ten years, the '94 World Cup aside, and the only ones privy to it were a middle-aged Muggle couple from Sussex."

"Perhaps he became over-confident with his ability to cheat death," Harry suggested. 

"I for one am tired of thinking about the miserable bastard," Severus mumbled into his coffee.

"You getting tired?" Harry grinned. "Ready to climb into your pjs?" Hermione and Ron both did a convincing spit take, half-drenching Remus, who was blissfully ignorant of it all as he joined in the laughter. After all, Albus had given them all hideous eveningwear at some point in their tenure at the school.

"No, I'm too curious as to what you three are planning on doing with your lives, now that you have no cause driving you towards law enforcement," Severus answered, directing his question towards the trainees who were sobering up very quickly.

"Professor Dumbledore said that any of the trainees interested in becoming Aurors will now transfer to the Ministry-run program, which will end in February, rather than March like it would have here," Hermione half-answered.

"And?" Sirius prompted.

"Well," Ron broke in, seeing the uncertainty in Hermione's face, "I know that I'm chucking it in."

"Really?" Hermione asked, genuinely surprised. Ron had always wanted to be an Auror. In fact, it was practically his dream job, next to playing professional Quidditch.

"Yes," Ron answered, smiling sheepishly at them all. Harry found that a bit ridiculous. As if any of them had _anything_ to prove. "When I told Lavendar about last night, which, in all honesty, wasn't half as dangerous as either of us had thought, she went mental. Says…says she can't see anything out of her third eye, through all the tears," he finished up, unable to make it without breaking into a fit of laughter. The others in the room failed in the exact same way. "Seriously though, I know that we still need people to be Aurors. Evil isn't gone just because Voldemort is, but I'm almost positive that the world can survive without _me_ looking after it. I'm getting married soon. Going to spread the Weasley gene." ("God help us," Severus sighed melodramatically, only half-sincere.) "I'll probably look for a safe desk job at the Ministry."

"I'm continuing with the program," Hermione announced. Seeing the look on both Harry's and Ron's face, she went on to explain herself. She wasn't trying to prove anything anymore. She wasn't looking to hunt down all of the Malfoys in the world, or anything so vigilante as that. "It was…fulfilling, last night," she went on. "I'm not saying that it will be a lifelong career. I'm actually thinking about studying law, thanks to you," she added, smiling at Sirius. "But I'll try to stick with this, for now. So I'll know what law really means."

"I'm sure you both will be wonderful, at whatever you do," Remus smiled, warming up all of the mugs. "Harry?"

"I'm staying here," Harry answered.

"In Britain?" Ron asked.

"At Hogwarts," Harry clarified. "The Headmaster has suggested that I continue with my education and apprenticeship under Professor Snape."

"You want to be a Potions master?" Sirius asked, a little surprised at his godson's apparent passion for the subject.

"Maybe," Harry answered, "but I'm more interested in Transfiguration, at the moment. There is a lot of research I'm looking forward to." In fact, he was already discussing the possibilities of a research grant from _Transfiguration Monthly_, with Minerva as a sponsor, putting his Parseltongue to use. And Severus had asked him to continue their work on improving the Wolfsbane potion, and Dumbledore had assured him quarter within the castle for as long as he wished, with the understanding that he would work with the staff in continuing his education. 

"An academic then?" Hermione asked. "I can show you all of the best libraries in Southern England and Scotland," she beamed.

"Lord help me," Harry laughed.

"I'm happy you're staying," Sirius smiled, while Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"As am I, Harry," Remus added. Then all eyes turned to Severus Snape, who was idly sipping away at his coffee.

Seeing his audience, the Potions professor sighed and set his drink aside. "I suppose I'm not opposed to the idea, but I'm not keeping those bloody snakes in my rooms another day," he scowled. "You'll just have to buy yourself some bloody earmuffs. Sprout has some lovely pink ones, as a matter of fact. Dashing."

****

The End

A/N: Ok, unforgivably trite, sappy, maudlin ending? Couldn't be helped, I'm afraid. This story needed a nice bow at the end to prevent any requests for sequels. I mean, do you honestly want to wait months and months for updates? I think not. Seriously though, if it bothers you when you get a "happily ever after" ending, just imagine that…Minnie comes down with a flu, that Severus gets a particularly painful hangnail, that Lavendar forces Ron to wear a powder blue robe to the wedding, that Hermione has to retake the Auror test after failing the first time around, that Harry's Manic friends come back and leech off of him for months and months, that Andy wears the same foul smelling shirt for three weeks in a row because it's lucky, when really it wasn't the shirt but a mild love potion supplied by Harry that got him that date with the stripper from Bath. Yes indeed.

Thanks to all of you lovely reviewers. Sorry again for how long this story took to complete. I can only say that I hope it was worth it, in the end. For me, hearing from all of you, it was J 


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